


The Martyr

by atlas (cissysullivan)



Series: This Is War [1]
Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-25
Updated: 2012-06-26
Packaged: 2017-11-08 13:51:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 27
Words: 86,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/443867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cissysullivan/pseuds/atlas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>We've heard Katniss' side of the story during the 74th Annual Hunger Games, but what is Peeta's? This is the Hunger Games from his point of view. *All parts from the book belong to Suzanne Collins. This story is also full of headcanon. None of this, except things taken directly from the book, is official canon.*</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Reaping

There is a whisper of the wind blowing through my open window. It feels too warm in here. Then again it nearly always does. The fires, the furnace below in the bakery turn the place into a house-shaped oven. The wind blows again and, desperate for some cool air, I turn towards the breeze. A bright light blooms on my eyelids. Carefully, I open them. The sun is streaming in through my thin curtains, muting the illumination on the hardwood floor. It is morning, the day we all dread: the reaping.

I don't want to get up. I would much rather stay in bed and try to find solace in my dreams, but I know now that I am awake I'll never be able to get back to sleep. Sighing, I throw back the covers and swing my legs over my mattress, placing my feet on the toasty wooden floor. For a moment, I sit there, staring at the floor, wondering how it doesn't burst into flame because of the heat in the kitchen below.

Eventually, I gain the strength to push myself up off my bed and go to the window, breathing in the cool fresh air. I close my eyes and sigh. I don't smile, though. I can't remember the last time I did. Well, I do, but I didn't mean it. I have a lot to smile about, really. I have enough to eat nearly every night. I have never been starving in my life. There are many who wish they had the life I do, but majority of them don't know the whole story, they don't know the reason behind my broken appearance.

This thought makes me turn from the window, giving my dresser a sardonic smile, wondering where that thought came from in the first place. What made me think I am broken? Surely not my mother's beatings. Those are not a rarity, but they don't affect me as much as they used to. What reason do I have to never smile? I come to the conclusion that I'm being ridiculous. The answer is clearly nothing. I'm only being egocentric.

Turning back to face the outside world of District 12, I see a slim figure dressed in a brown leather jacket, loose fitting pants and a pair of worn leather shoes, climbing under the fence and running towards the forest. I squint, trying to make out the figure's features. Once I do my lips quirk upwards. It's not a full smile, only half of one, but only Katniss Everdeen can pull that out of me.

I know it's her heading out into the woods because only she and a boy – whom I assume is her cousin – are the ones who do. They often trade squirrels in exchange for bread with my father. He doesn't trade if my mother is around. She is a violent woman, one who enjoys yelling for reasons unknown and beating her children. Specifically her youngest child. Me. I often wonder if it's legal for a mother to be that violent to her own child, but I suppose now it doesn't matter as much. I can take what she gives better than I could when I was eleven.

I take my gaze off of Katniss as she disappears into the woods. I stare at my hands gripping my wooden window sill instead. They're still covered in a thin layer of flour from yesterday. Probably because I didn't wash them before I went to bed. I often forget to do this. For whatever reason, I prefer to have my hands covered in the stuff.

Looking back up and out the window, I watch the sunrise, knowing that were it any other day I would be down in the bakery now, making bread, icing cakes, all under the watchful eye of my mother of course. Do one thing wrong and she'll slap you leaving a hand-shaped bruise on your cheek, one everyone sees, but pretends not to notice. Cases like mine aren't a rarity in District 12, but no one wants to deal with the parents, so they let it continue. I disagree with their rationality, but to their credit no child has died. Yet.

Feeling slightly angry due to the thoughts circulating in my head, I turn away from the window. I should dress in my nice clothes, the ones I'll wear to the reaping this afternoon, but I have more than enough time to dress myself. Right now, I'm hungry and I know where I can find some food: the kitchen. I'm not allowed to eat the good bread, the stuff that I make to sell, but I can eat the older bread, the ones that no one buys. Their crusts are hard and, as a whole, they are stale, but they're better than nothing, which is what many people here have.

I walk soundlessly down the stairs in nothing, but what I wore to bed the night before. I open the kitchen door in a manner that would suggest I am trying to steal something. In a way I am. There is only so much bread to be had, but it's morning, the day of the reaping and I'm hungry. I have more to eat than many and I try not to eat as much because I feel guilty otherwise, but sometimes the pains in my stomach become too intense and I break down.

This morning is a very good example.

The bread we are allowed to eat is stocked in a pantry with multiple shelves and drawers. There's more bread in there than one would think, but it's only just enough to keep this family of five from running out of food. Because we bake, we can get more food at the Hob than most. My father's breads are incomparable and the cakes I make with my brothers are fantastic. Or at least that's what we think. According to our mother, it's never good enough and, naturally, it's my fault, which is why I am the brunt of all her rages. In many ways, I don't mind. At least she isn't harming my brothers too.

I unlock the pantry with the key my mother thinks is cleverly hidden, but my brothers and I found this place long ago and now whenever we are hungry we come and take what we want. Sometimes it results in a beating or no food for the rest of the day, if she catches us. However the times we do get away with it is what makes it all worth it.

The bread I choose looks more like a strangely colored pancake than a loaf of bread. In fact, it's made almost exactly the same way that a pancake is. It is called pita bread, that for which I am named. The only difference is where the original word has a singular 'I' mine is replaced by a pair of 'Es'.

Perhaps it's only because it is my namesake, but this bread has always been my favorite. It is also the one I am punished the worst for and I can understand why. This bread isn't hard to make, but getting the ingredients for it is. Difficult and expensive. Yes, we live in the wealthier part of the District, but that doesn't mean we have all the money we want or even all the money we need. We get enough to scrape by with our stomachs full every night.

I finish my bread quickly. By that time the rest of the family is up and hurry back to my room before anyone can figure out what I was doing. I take several gulps of water, trying to wash the smell of the bread down my throat before I begin to dress myself in the clothes my father gave me only two years ago. For whatever reason, you are supposed to dress nicely for the reaping. It isn't a special occasion. Not for us anyhow. Here in District 12, being chosen for the Hunger Games is initially a death sentence.

Everyone's name is put in the reaping bowl. Some have their names put in more than once a year to keep their families going, but those of us who don't have to worry about food only have our names in few times. My name is in the bowl only five times, since I've never had to take out a tessarae to have my name put in the bowl more than once. I'm safe or about as safe as someone my age and class can be. It's unlikely my name will be chosen, but it's not impossible.

I open the top drawer of my dresser and pull out my reaping clothes. A pale blue button-up shirt with a pair of khaki pants. We don't have to be at the square until two and it's not even afternoon yet, but I don't know what else to do. It's unlikely mother will make us do any baking before the reaping and I'm not in the mood to bake anyhow. Most of the time when something bad happens, or I can't get something terrible off my mind, I go down into the kitchen and decorate a cake, bake some bread, put frosting on some cookies. The aroma of the flour, the frosting, the dough, helps me to forget the entrapment I feel when faced with a bad situation. I become so absorbed in my work that the rest of the world fades away. However, today that won't happen. Nothing can take away the fear the reaping brings.

It is still several hours until the reaping, but I dress anyway. I slowly pull on the pants, adjusting them, so they are more comfortable on my hips. I shrug into my shirt, doing up the buttons as if I have all the time in the world.

Everyone else is outside of their rooms, in the hallway, talking. I don't know what about, but I hear my mother yelling. She's probably lost her dress. She'll probably come to blame me for it. As a precaution, I close my bedroom door and place a chair under the knob, hoping that will keep her from bursting in to bruise my face on the one day she really can't. To my surprise, she never comes near my room once. She yells at my father and my brothers instead. She doesn't hit anyone, but I can tell from the way she's speaking that she desperately wants to. I'm already dreading getting back from the square.

Once the chaos outside my door has calmed, I sneak out, going down the hall to the bathroom. I have to make my hair look nice too. This is the one day of the year I break out the expensive hair gel my father got some years ago at the Hob. I slick my own ashy locks back out of my eyes, willing them to stay in place. I can't use much. I'll need this for two more years and after that…who knows? Maybe there will be some cause for celebration in District 12 and I'll need it again.

By the time I'm finished preparing myself for the afternoon's events it's nearly time to go to them. I walk slowly down the stairs into the bakery. My brothers are there as is my father. I don't know where my mother is, but my confusion doesn't last long. She comes crashing down the stairs only moments after I reach the small huddle the rest of my family has made in the center of the shop. The only thing I can say for her is that if looks could kill, I would be dead. However, her look tells me that my suspicions are confirmed. I'm going to be half dead by the time she's finished with me.

The walk to the square is a short one. Once there, I sign my name on the roster as I must. I don't turn to see where my family has gone. I walk down the roped off areas until I reach the one for boys age sixteen. I take my place beside a tall brown haired boy. The boy on the other side of me could be the first's twin they look so much alike, but their heights are too drastically different for this to be possible.

The clock strikes two all too soon. The mayor stands and makes his mandatory speech of how the Hunger Games came about, but I'm hardly listening. My eyes are glued to someone else directly to my left. She's sixteen also. Her dark hair is braided down her back and she is wearing a beautiful pale blue dress. She's always beautiful, Katniss, but right now, she is stunning. It's sad that she should be so beautiful on such an ugly day.

"Happy Hunger Games!" the voice of Effie Trinket, the escort for the tributes of District 12, pulls my eyes from Katniss and back onto the stage. I see her standing before the microphone, dressed in pink from head to toe. She looks ridiculous, but then again almost anyone from the Capitol does. "And may the odds be  _ever_ in your favor," she adds, her voice far too bright for such a dark day.

Effie Trinket pulls away from the microphone and walks over the bowl containing the names of the girl tributes. "Ladies first!" she says, smiling. I turn away unable to look at her any longer. My eyes return to Katniss as Effie continues digging in the reaping bowl for some unlucky child. My own safety is not my current concern. It's her safety I'm anxious about. Her name is in the bowl far too many times, though it's something she has to do to keep her family alive. I still remember with brute clarity the days when she would come to school so thin, so ill she could barley move from class to class.

Again, it's Effie Trinket's voice that pulls me back into reality. As she unfurls the paper she pulled out of the bowl, I can see the blur of letters that is the name printed on the sheet. I'm praying for Katniss' safety, but I don't really have a chance to before Effie is reading the name on the paper and it's clear that even if I'd had more time no one is listening to my pleas because the name on the slip is Primrose Everdeen.


	2. Chosen

For several long moments, I can't hear anything. I only see Prim, Katniss' little sister, walking slowly up towards the stage. She is too small, too young, too innocent for this. Why did it have to be her they chose? Wasn't her name only in the reaping bowl once? There have to be thousands of names in there. How in the world was her name drawn?

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Katniss slumping towards the ground. A boy standing next to her grabs her arm to keep her from falling. She's just as frozen as the rest of us, unable to believe that this is happening, but this only lasts for a second longer before she's pushing her way out of the crowd, shouting her sister's name. When she reaches her, she pushes the small girl behind her, trying, even now, to protect her from a world that is too cruel for someone as delicate as Prim.

I'm so focused on my thoughts I almost don't hear Katniss when she says, her voice desperate and pleading, "I volunteer! I volunteer as tribute!"

I close my eyes slowly, pain illuminating my features. A part of me, a rather large part actually, has known this was going to happen from the moment Prim's name was called. However, I'd foolishly been praying that that wasn't the case, that, for whatever reason, Katniss would let her sister go. It's a selfish thought really. Mainly, because I have no say in the matter. Prim is not my sister. I don't have any sisters. No one to protect from this heartless world. So, even though I want to, I know I'll never be able to understand what it feels like to have the person you love most in the world taken from you so swiftly.

"Lovely!" says Effie Trinket, though that couldn't be more untrue. "But I believe there's a small matter of introducing the reaping winner and then asking for volunteers and if one does come forth then we, um…"

"What does it matter?" the mayor says. I'm not sure if Effie trailed off or if he interrupted her. "What does it matter?" he says again, as though he lost his train of thought the first time he said those words. "Let her come forward."

I don't want this to be happening. I really do  _not_  want this to be happening. Though I've never been so close to someone I would do anything to keep them alive, I do care for Katniss more than I care for anyone else. Now, I'm going to have to watch her be slaughtered on live television and I don't know if I can do that without ridding myself of every emotion I possess.

Prim's arms are now locked around Katniss' waist. She's begging her not to leave because she knows as well as I do that she's most likely going to die. Half of me is praying she'll listen to her sister, while the other half knows she won't. My suspicions are confirmed when she says, in a voice that is far more cool than what I am used to hearing, "Prim, let go." I can tell she's choking back tears. Frankly I think everyone in the crowd is. It's difficult to watch a family be torn apart, especially when they're one as close as the Everdeens. We all know what happened after her father died, how she nearly starved to death and then one day, without warning, she began hunting in the woods. No one says anything about that. It's illegal, but no one really cares. They turn a blind eye to what Katniss and her cousin do because they buy her meats and fruit. Just as long as she doesn't bring her weapons back into the district, no one will say a thing.

I watch, my nails digging into my palms as her cousin pulls her sister away from her. It's heartbreaking to see the small girl trying to get away from him. He says something softly in her ear, but she doesn't respond. She only squares her shoulders and ascends the steps that her sister was supposed to only moments earlier.

"Well bravo!" says Effie Trinket, her voice as obnoxiously happy as ever. If I didn't think I'd get in trouble, I might tell her to knock it off because no one really cares anyway. "That's the spirit of the Games. What's your name?"

My heart breaks as I watch Katniss swallow hard. She's holding back tears, but only someone who has closely observed her for the majority of their life would notice. Her hands are clenched into fists at her sides and it takes her a moment before she is able to answer Effie's question. "Katniss Everdeen."

Her voice is surprisingly steady, but I don't know why I expected any less. Katniss is a strong girl, much stronger than I am at any rate. Then again, it doesn't really take much to be stronger than me. Anyone who allows their own mother to treat him like her own personal punching bag is a coward and has no strength.

"I bet my buttons that was your sister," Effie says, spoiling the moment – not that her presence didn't already do that. "Don't want her to steal all the glory, do we? Come on everybody! Let's give a big round of applause to our newest tribute."

Despite the sickeningly enthusiastic smile on Effie Trinket's lightly painted face, no one does as she asks. Who would? This is the Hunger Games after all, something many go into and never come out of. In fact, there is a very strong chance that Katniss will die and thinking of this has me digging my nails even deeper into my palms. I barely know her, but that hardly matters at the moment. The thought of her lying on some foreign wasteland, the blood draining out of her, her eyes devoid of life, takes my breath away and I struggle for several moments to suck oxygen into my weak lungs.

Apparently, the rest of District 12 is having similar thoughts because only moments after this image enters my mind, everyone around me is raising their three middle fingers on their left hand to their lips before holding them out to her. I don't hesitate to copy the crowd. This is the only way I will ever be able to bid her farewell.

Of course there is no such thing as a perfect moment in Panem, especially for those of us living in the districts surrounding the Capitol. This fact is proven when Haymitch Abernathy, District 12's only living victor out of the two we've ever had, decides to stumble up to Katniss, wrap his arm around her shoulders.

"Look at her. Look at this one!" His voice is much too loud and his words are slurred. It's clear to anyone witnessing this that he's beyond drunk. "I like her!" he adds, in a voice that, despite the somber mood, has me stifling a laugh. "Lots of…" a confused look crosses his face as though he can't remember any sort of complicated, which, I remind myself, in his current state he probably can't. Finally, his face brightens once more and he says, "Spunk!"

Untangling himself from Katniss, he walks jaggedly to one of the cameras focused on the makeshift stage he, Effie, Katniss and the district's mayor are current standing on. Pointing into the lens, he says, his brow creased slightly, "More than you!" It's clear he's addressing the Capitol, but I'm sure that he's too intoxicated to realize how dangerous this is. A part of me is hoping the officials will let it go for this reason.

However, this isn't a concern for much longer. I'll never know how, but out of nowhere, Haymitch falls of the stage, doing a face-plant. He's knocked himself unconscious and, since no one really wants him to be around right now anyway, he's carried away on a stretcher. Effie's saying something, but I'm not really focused on what it is. I can't stop myself from alternating my stare between Haymitch and Katniss. I probably should be listening because when her voice tears me away from my haze, I realize it's my name she's calling.

"Peeta Mellark.'

A part of me really can't stop thinking about how this morning I was convinced I was safe. I think of how I was dressing, already planning on what I was going to do when I got home. I remember my mother's glare of warning, promising me pain. I remember my brother's looking at me with concern. I remember going downstairs to get some bread, thinking about what cake I was going to decorate after the reaping.

I want to laugh at the irony of it all, but I know if I do I'll become so hysterical I'll be unable to stop. I only ever felt this way once before and that was when my mother had a knife at my throat, threatening to kill me, though I can't remember why anymore. It's strange how so many events in my life only remind me of another. It shows me how repetitive it is.

While this has been running through my mind, I've been frozen to the spot, but now I'm carefully making my way out of the crowd of sixteen year old tributes, heading towards the stage. Now that I've come to the conclusion this isn't some sort of horrid nightmare, I can feel my features twisting into an expression that I can only identify as shock. I struggle to keep my face emotionless, but I can tell from the way Katniss is staring me as I take the steps up to the stage one at a time, that it's all showing in my eyes.

As I reach the top and stand next to Katniss, the mayor begins to read the Treaty of Treason, but I'm still not listening to anything the officials are saying. In fact, I've gotten over the horror at having my name drawn, my thoughts have returned to Katniss and I'm thinking,  _Why her?_ I don't understand. Truly I don't. Of all the people that could have been chosen for the Games, why did it have to be Prim? If I'm going to be completely honest, I knew from the minute Effie Trinket read Prim's name that Katniss was going to volunteer. My inability to breathe had been due to the fact that I cannot lose Katniss. Not now. Not when I thought that maybe, just maybe I might have a chance to talk to her, possibly befriend her. However, now I knew that would never happy because the Capitol always has to remind its citizens that it is charge and they are not.

Now that I'm on stage and all of this is going through my head, I'm, in a way, glad that my name was the one chosen. In the arena, I will protect Katniss, keep her alive in any way I can. I will give my life for her if necessary, in fact, I plan on it. I'll keep her alive for as long as I possibly can and when I die, I'll pray it's her that wins.

I know she needs to win. After her father died in the mine explosion, she was the one who started taking care of her family. She is the reason they're not all dead due to starvation. In a way, I know this is part of the reason, when I saw her sitting in my backyard, I gave her the loaves of bread. They were burnt and I knew I would be beaten for it, but that didn't matter. I'd dropped the bread in the fire on purpose because I knew she needed food and I was going to give it to her. Even then I couldn't bear to see her die.

Now the stakes are even higher. Her survival is no longer something I can guarantee. I can protect her, die for her, but what good will that do? I won't know if she ever makes it out alive. I'll never know that my death wasn't a vain one. There is nothing that will make sure Katniss is the last one standing.

But I'm not fazed. I'm still going to try to protect her. I'm still willing to give my life to save hers. In fact, the more I think about it, the more I know I don't have a choice in the matter. If Katniss dies in the arena and I live, I don't think I'd ever be able to forgive myself. I'm unhappy that I'm going to die, but if it's protecting Katniss, then I'll do it.

All too soon, the mayor has finished reading the Treaty and he's having us shake hands.

I carefully take Katniss' hand in my own, knowing this may be the only chance I have to ever treat her with such care. Trying to make this moment last, I hold on slightly longer than is appropriate to give her hand what I hope she interprets to be a reassuring squeeze. I know she's uncomfortable with it, but I have to let her know, somehow that she's going to be safe.

I take a moment to look into her beautiful grey eyes. I try to look hopeful, but I know that the expression on my face can only be identified as pure pain. Still, I hope she understands it's her life I'm going to be saving. Maybe in time, she'll understand why, but for now the question still remains,  _Why her?_  I know I'm going to be asking myself this for the rest of my life.


	3. 250 MPH

As the anthem of Panem begins to play, I'm already coming up with a thousand different strategies that will help me keep Katniss alive. I don't even notice the anthem has ended until we're being directed down the stage stairs and towards the Justice Building by the Peacekeepers. I'm not noticing much today.

Once inside the building, I'm directed to a very lavishly decorated room. I am a baker's son and live in the wealthier section of Panem, but never in my life have I seen such beautifully carved chairs, wonderfully stitched tapestries and carpets with so many patterns and colors that I feel dizzy just looking at them. After taking in the sight of the room, I choose a long red couch to sit on and wait for my family to arrive. They're supposed to come and say goodbye to me, but I wouldn't be surprised if they don't. In fact, I don't want them to. I don't want them to be the last people I embrace as a friend before I'm thrown into the arena.

Of course, my prayers are never answered because only moments after I sit down, I'm standing up again as my mother, then my brothers and finally my father, push their way through the double doors leading into the room I've been placed in. My mother embraces me first, which I think is a surprise to everyone. As she's pulling away, she says, the smirk evident in her voice, "Maybe District 12 will finally have a winner." For a split second, I think she's talking about me, but then she adds, "She's a survivor, that one."

I wince. I can't help it. She couldn't care less if I die in the arena. In fact, I'm sure she'd prefer it. One less mouth to feed, one less screw up running around not doing anything exactly the way she tells him to. A part of me feels as though I should be worried about my brothers, but I really don't think they would put up with being hurt the way I do. They're stronger and could easily take her on. I may be muscular from carrying heavy bags of flour to and from the bakery, but I'm not very tall and I'm not really anyone to worry about contending with. I wouldn't be surprised if I'm taken out the first day.

It takes a moment for everyone to get over the shock of what my mother just said, but once they do, my brothers each hug me and wish me luck. My father is the only one who holds me as though he'll never see me again and I clutch to him, closing my eyes tight, trying to keep myself from crying, but as they leave the room the tears begin to flow and no matter how hard I try to stop them they continue to fall. Eventually, I end up burying my face in my hands and sobbing silently, waiting for someone to collect me and take me to the train station where I will get my last look at District 12 before I die.

A pair of Peacekeepers leads me from my room to a car. I've never been in one before and, even though it's a short ride from the Justice Building to the train station, I'm glancing all around the vehicle, curious as to what things are made out of, what certain buttons do and how it works. I feel like a small child again, asking my father to show me how to make a cake look so beautiful with his tube of frosting.

The minute we reach the station I wish I'd kept a better hold on my emotions. The place is swarming with cameras that will eat up my image and display it all across Panem. I hurriedly wipe at my face before the car stops, but I know it won't hide the fact that I've been crying recently. Everyone is going to know that people get to me. They'll probably mark me as an easy target and take me out quickly, but what do I care? I know I'm going to die. I resigned myself to that the moment my name was called because if anyone needs to go home it's Katniss, not me.

Getting out of the car, I walk stiffly from one vehicle to another: the train that will take us to the Capitol. Since traveling between districts is illegal, I've never been on a train before. Then again, the majority of the population of the country hasn't.

I'm glancing at my image on some of the screens in the station and I'm angry with myself for looking so weak. However, I'll be the first to admit I'm not strong, so perhaps this is appropriate. Still, as I stand in the doorway to the train allowing the cameras to suck up my image, I can't help thinking others are probably laughing at me right now. I wonder if I should be upset or cheerful about this. I'm sure there is a good reason for me to be feeling both.

Finally, Effie Trinket is pulling us both back inside. Good thing too because our noses are almost chopped off by the swiftly closing doors. When the train begins to move, I stagger backwards. Not because of the sudden take off – these trains have been designed for pure comfort in travel – but because I've never been inside something that is this fast before. When I look out the window and see the trees whizzing by I feel nauseous. I have to turn away to keep myself from retching.

As Effie leads Katniss down the train's corridor to a room at the far end, Haymitch leads me to the one right next to it. He tells me to do whatever I want before adding that he's heading back to his own chambers to take a nap. A part of me thinks I should stop him, but at the same time I'm glad I don't. He smells too strongly of alcohol and I'm sure he'd only end up doing something that neither of us would want to remember afterwards. It's for this reason that the moment he leaves, I slam the door shut behind him, locking it for good measure. It's only then that I turn around to stare at the luxurious room I've been given.

There's a large bed in pushed up against the wall directly across from me. It's centered and on either end is a small table with only a fancy looking lamp atop it. There's a dresser almost right next to the door and when I open it I find a vast array of clothes for me to change into. I've unbuttoned my shirt and placed it on the bed when I notice another door that's on the same wall as the dresser. Opening it, I find a bathroom unlike any I've ever seen. There's a shower, a bathtub, a toilet and a sink that almost looks like a second tub. I want to take a shower – something I've never had the chance to do back at home – but I'm not really sweating or dirty in any way, so I find it pointless.

I strip down to my underwear, folding all of my reaping clothes on the chest at the end of the bed. Then I return to the dresser and open the top drawer. I pull out a white shirt that has four buttons near the collar. When I put it on, I find it's slightly too big for me, but I push up the sleeves, hoping this will make it look less baggy. After I add a pair of dark gray pants to my outfit, I look in the mirror. I don't look half bad. The shoes I wore to the reaping actually fit my clothes very well. It's when I'm actually smiling at my reflection that I begin wondering why I care about my appearance to begin with and I almost laugh when I finally realize why: Katniss. I want to look nice for her. It doesn't matter really. We'll be at each other's throats in a few days. Or rather she'll be at my throat, while I'm trying to protect hers. It'd be a bit of cruel irony if she's the one that ends up killing me. I wonder how I'd feel about that. I push the thought away and tell myself it doesn't matter. Either way I'm going to die and if Katniss kills me herself, well then all the better.

It takes a while for me to remind myself that my looks, at this point in my life, hardly matter, but once I do, I unlock my door and head back towards the section of the train that we came in. To my surprise no one is there, but instead of going back to my room to wait for someone to come get me when dinner is served, I sit down at the table I assume we're going to eating at. It's not a large table. There are only four chairs surrounding it, two on either side. Even so it's clearly very expensive. Although, I can't help wondering if the table costs more money or if the dishes set before each chair are.

I've only just sat down when Effie comes tottering into the room, Katniss in tow. She's wearing a different outfit as well. As opposed to the blue dress of her mother's, she now has on an olive colored shirt and a pair of dark brown pants. Like me, she's still wearing the same shoes and, considering how her other clothes look, they're very much out of place.

"Where Haymitch?" Effie asks, her voice still annoyingly cheerful.

Staring at the plates before me, I say in as casual a tone as I can manage, "Last time I saw him he said he was going to go take a nap."

Though she doesn't make one, the sigh of relief is clearly visible. Her smile widens, if only slightly as she sits down across from me, saying, "Well, it's been an exhausting day."

As I watch Katniss take her seat next to Effie, I can't help feeling a twinge of disappointment. For whatever reason, I'd thought now that we were both going to be in an arena fighting to the death, she might actually try speaking with me. Clearly, I'm wrong, but I suppose that's all for the better. Maybe she shouldn't know that I'm going to be protecting her.

The Capitol food is like none I've ever seen or had. It's sweet and tastes far better than anything I ate back at home. The bread is fresh, the potatoes are mashed, the fruit is delectable and, for now, free. I'm not trying to save room for more. I only want to get a taste of everything before it's taken away from me. I have to keep reminding myself to cut up my food so I don't choke, but I know if that wasn't a concern, I'd be eating like a wild animal.

Either Effie read my mind or I read hers because only moments after I've finished thinking this, she says, "At least, you two have decent manners. "The pair last year ate everything with their hands like a couple of savages. It completely upset my digestion."

I don't personally know the kids that were chosen last year, but I do know that they weren't wealthy and probably didn't have food the majority of the time. This comment bothers me, but it clearly bothers Katniss more. She sets down her silverware and eats the rest of her meal with her fingers. It's Effie's face that I have to keep myself from looking at. I know I'll burst out laughing if I do otherwise.

The minute dinner is over, I wish I hadn't eaten as much or as fast as I did. I feel nauseous and I want to go to the bathroom so I can hang over the toilet just in case it all comes back up. I can tell Katniss is having similar thoughts, but I'm sure that if I concentrate on something other than my roiling stomach, I'll forget about it eventually.

When all the food has been taken away, we go down another hallway and end up in a small sitting room. There's a couch in the center and a television hung on the wall across from it. We sit down and watch the recaps of the reapings that took place all across Panem. I don't really pay attention to any of the other contestants, though I know I probably should. I just keep wondering how I'm going to keep myself and more importantly Katniss alive in the arena. There are millions of different things I may have to do, each more unsavory than the last, but if it means she goes home, then whatever I have to do to get her there really doesn't matter.

As our reaping finally comes up, I watch if only to see Haymitch throwing himself off the stage. It's one of those things that's funny after the fact, though Effie completely ruins it by saying, "Your mentor has a lot to learn about presentation. A lot about televised behavior."

I laugh. I really can't help it. You'd think after all the time she's spent with Haymitch Abernathy, she would have realized he really is beyond saving. "He was drunk," I tell her, a ridiculous smile plastered to my lips. "He's drunk every year."

Katniss adds the, "Every day," that I left out.

Effie's expression darkens, but I don't change the look on my face even when she says, "Yes. How odd you two find it amusing. You know your mentor is the lifeline to the world in these Games. The one who advises you, lines up your sponsors and dictates the presentation of any gifts. Haymitch can well be the difference between your life and your death."

As if on cue, the man himself staggers into the compartment with a stupid smile on his face. "I miss supper?" he asks, his voice slurred. I'm opening my mouth to answer, but I have to close it again instantly because as Haymitch vomits all over the carpet, I don't want to be doing the same.

"So laugh away," Effie adds sounding smug. She maneuvers herself around Haymitch and dashes out of the compartment and who can blame her? If I didn't feel like I had to do something to help him, I'd probably just leave Haymitch in that mess too.


	4. Fighters

Looking at Haymitch laying in a pile of his own bile, I know this isn't going to be one of those, it's-not-as-bad-as-it-looks times. It is as bad as it looks. Puke is puke no matter how you look at it and unfortunately my conscience won't let me leave my mentor lying in his own. This is one of the times I wish I cared less for my fellow human beings, but if I did then I suppose I'd be somewhat heartless and therefore would not be myself.

I glance at Katniss and find she's already looking at me. I don't take this to mean anything other than she knows what we have to do and she really doesn't want to do it either. I know her stare couldn't possibly mean anything else. We've never spoken to one another and she doesn't know my feelings for her, a part of me hopes she never will, especially since now we're going to be placed in a large expanse of land where we'll be told to murder one another.

Turning away from her, I look back at Haymitch and walk towards him, Katniss following. I'm holding my breath in an attempt to keep myself from revisiting my dinner, but I know I can't do this forever. With Katniss' help I manage to raise him to his feet, one of his arms slung across my shoulders, the other across hers.

"I tripped?" I stop myself from telling him that much is obvious to anyone with eyes. "Smells bad," he adds almost as an afterthought. I grimace, wrapping an arm around my stomach as he wipes his nose on his hand, smearing his bile all over his face. It looked bad enough on the carpet and on his clothes, but now it's twice as abhorrent, if that's even possible.

"Let's get you back to your room," I say, barely able to hide the strain in my voice that comes from holding my breath. I'm afraid if I take a breath, the smell will knock me out and I don't want to force Katniss to deal with Haymitch on her own. "Get you cleaned up a bit."

We end up half-dragging him back to his quarters. Somehow we manage to get him in the bathtub and turn on the shower. As the warm spray hits his clothes, some of the vomit already begins to wash off. I wonder how gross it is underneath his nice jacket and trousers. I really don't want to find out, but, for whatever reason, I don't want Katniss to find out more, so as she moves to help me I say, "It's okay. I'll take it from here."

The relief in her expression is instantaneous. The last thing I want to do is deal with Haymitch alone, but I really don't see how I have a choice. I feel as though it would be more than a little cruel to leave him in this bathtub, water falling on him, hoping he realizes what's happening and try to get himself cleaned up. I've seen drunken people before and they can't do anything when they're this intoxicated. My oldest brother was a clear example of this, but I don't tell Katniss any of this. That would only make her pity me and feel as though she had to help me. I don't want that.

"All right," she responds, clearly trying to keep how grateful she is out of her voice, but she doesn't do a very good job. As if in a last ditch effort to make it seem as though she would help me if I hadn't asked her not to she adds, "I can send one of the Capitol people to help you."

"No I don't want them," I say instantly. Her offer is almost more of an insult than a helpful gesture. I would much rather deal with Haymitch alone than feel inadequate by someone from the world that is forcing me here in the first place help me with him, no matter how disgusting he is.

The minute she leaves I carefully begin unbuttoning Haymitch's nice, tailored jacket. He's the richest person in District 12, save for the Peacekeepers, so he can afford something like this. I doubt he would have worn it if he didn't feel he had to. Or someone forced him. As I carefully ease the fabric off of him, I'm assuming it's the latter.

To my surprise, the vomit didn't soak through to his t-shirt underneath. Still, I take that off and try to keep myself from gagging as I lather him down with some of the soap that comes from a very convenient dispenser located just above my head. I don't want to take off his pants, but I know I'll have to. I postpone the inevitable by removing his shoes and socks instead. His shoes probably cost three times as much as mine do, though they look almost exactly the same. I place all of his wet and dirty clothes in a pile in the center of the bathroom on a towel. I'd rather not come into contact with them a second time, so I plan on wrapping them in the towel and sending putting them in the laundry basket near his bed.

In the end, I decide to keep his boxers on because there are some parts of certain people you just really don't want to see. I wash him as good as I can otherwise. I'm just hoping he'll have the sense to wash himself again tomorrow. I really don't want to have to go through this again. Though, considering all of the things that have happened throughout my life, this isn't one of the worst by far.

I'll never know how, maybe I have magical powers I'm unaware of, but I do manage to get Haymitch all cleaned up and tucked into bed. He hardly seems to notice, however. He's snoring long before I pull up his blankets and leave the room. That's fine by me. I'm secretly praying neither of us remember this experience. Or at least one of the two of us doesn't and since I'm not the one passed out drunk on the bed, I don't think it's going to be Haymitch that has a clear recollection of what just happened.

I'm not exhausted, not really. In fact, I think I have enough energy to stay up for a good portion of the night, but seeing as I would rather not make myself exhausted by doing so, the minute I enter my room, I tear off my clothes, fold them on top of the dresser and climb into bed. You'd think a baker's son would be able to afford pajamas that even people in the Seam have, but my mother has never thought pajamas were necessary for sleeping. I'm actually pretty sure she thinks that sleeping requires no clothing altogether. In any event, I climb into bed with only my underwear on. I'm pretty sure I would be uncomfortable any other way.

I wake up early the next morning. I only know it's early because there is barely any light shining through my windows. Pushing my blankets back, I stagger upright and stare out to the world the train is passing by, but I stop myself quickly. Clearly I've forgotten how nauseous I get when I see how fast we're actually going.

Since I've got time, I take a shower. It's actually very refreshing and I don't understand why I didn't do it yesterday. I dry myself with one of the many towels that are provided. Once I think I'm not going to soak my clothes, I return to my bedroom and dress in the same outfit I wore the day before. I'm not in the mood for digging through the drawers to find something that I know I'll actually enjoy wearing for the next…while.

To my surprise, Haymitch is already sitting at the table when I walk into the dining area. There's a plate placed in front of the seat next to him covered in breakfast foods I've only heard about. Some I recognize because occasionally my father is able to take a bit of the flour and make us pancakes or buy some eggs at the Hob, but sausage, bacon, and fried potatoes are new to me. I don't hesitate to sit down and start shoving everything into my mouth. Based on how I felt yesterday I know I shouldn't be doing this, but everything tastes too good for me to care.

I've just finished and am dipping some of the rolls in the basket in the center of the table in a glass of what Haymitch tells me is filled with a liquid called hot chocolate, when Katniss walks in. I twirl the roll I'm currently holding between my fingers, trying not to look at her. For whatever reason, I feel embarrassed by what happened yesterday. I keep feeling like she thinks less of me for washing up Haymitch instead of her. I doubt this is the case, seeing as she isn't that kind of person, but that doesn't change the way I feel.

"Sit down! Sit down!" Haymitch calls, motioning for Katniss to join us. I continue to stare at my roll.

One of the people from the Capitol places a plate covered in the same foods I just devoured the moment she is all settled. I can tell from the look on her face she is just as shocked as I am, maybe even more so. She's from the Seam and I'm a baker's son. Compared to her, I've got more money than I know what to do with.

The final thing to be placed in front of her is the glass of hot chocolate. She glances at it questioningly, but I tell her its name as well as it isn't all that bad. She takes my word for it, putting the glass to her lips and taking a sip. The effect is immediate. It's clear she likes the stuff as much as I do and, as I continue dunking my bits of roll into the drink, I notice she doesn't eat anything until her hot chocolate is gone.

She finishes eating about as quickly as I do and once she's set down her fork and knife, she turns to Haymitch. The look in her eyes is something I can only describe as hatred and I can understand why. It's not as though he's trying to help us, even now he's drinking what I think is vodka watered down with what appears to be grape juice. Since she seems to have more people skills than I do, she says, "So you're supposed to give us advice."

"Here's some advice," Haymitch responds almost the exact moment Katniss finishes talking. "Stay alive." Then he starts laughing like a maniac. This immediately makes me angry. What else are we trying to do besides stay alive? It's not as if we're going to go out into the open, our arms spread wide and challenge one of the more talented tributes to kill us right off. I notice Katniss glancing and I glance back. I'm still angry, so I look at her with a harshness that is not meant for her.

"That's very funny," I say finally, trying to keep my anger under control, but before I know what I'm doing I'm lashing out at Haymitch, knocking his glass of alcoholic grape juice to the floor. "Only not to us." I watch as the drink spills across the nice carpet, staining it. I think I should feel bad for this, but I don't. I'm too angry to care.

Haymitch's reaction is delayed, probably because he's so shocked over what just happened. However, when he does finally come to his senses, he gives me a hard look before punching me as hard as he possibly can in the jaw, knocking me from my chair to the stained carpet. I can't say I expected any different and after growing up with my mother, this form of abuse doesn't even faze me. In fact, it feels normal. The scary thing is not only does it feel normal I realize I've  _missed_  it. I've grown too accustomed to doing as I please with no consequences that when something finally does happen as a result of my actions I'm grateful for it, even if it's painful for me.

As I push myself to my feet, Haymitch says, "Well, what's this. Did I actually get a pair of fighters this year?"

I'm not entirely sure what he means, seeing as I was down for the count only moments ago, but I'm pretty sure he's being sarcastic, so I don't give him any sort of response. I only go over to the fruit lying atop a layer of ice in the bowl, scoop up some and place it on the patch of skin Haymitch's fist hit. I sigh in relief. This is natural. This is something that I can relate to. This is something that makes me feel – if only slightly – that things really haven't changed.

"No, let the bruise show," Haymitch tells me only seconds later. "The audience will think you've mixed it up with another tribute before you've even made it to the arena."

"That's against the rules," I say before I can think about it.

"Only if they catch you," he reminds me. "That bruise will say you fought, you weren't caught, even better." I don't like this idea, but drop the ice back in the bowl as he turns to Katniss and asks, "Can you hit anything with that knife besides the table?" Apparently she showed him something I missed, while trying to gain my bearings on the floor.

When Katniss throws the knife into the wall across the room, lodging it in between two of the wooden panels, I can't stop my eyes from widening in amazement. I've always know she was good with a bow. My father is always talking about how she never damages the meat by hitting her kill in the torso. She always puts her arrows in their eyes. However, I didn't know she was a knife thrower as well. She can do far more than I can. Her chances of survival are far superior to my own.

"Stand over here. Both of you," Haymitch says, gesturing to the middle of the room with his chin. I can't say I'm entirely comfortable with him then walking around us, prodding at us, checking out muscles, which basically equates to our chances of making it out of the arena. A moment after he stops, he looks us up and down and states, "Well, you're not entirely hopeless. Seem fit. And once the stylists get a hold of you, you'll be attractive enough."

I'm guessing this is another one of his left handed compliments

"Alright," he says finally. "I'll make a deal with you. You don't interfere with my drinking, and I'll stay sober enough to help you, but you have to do exactly what I say."

"Fine," I say, trying to keep the venom out of my voice.

"So help us," Katniss adds, sounding a little frustrated herself. "When we get into the arena what's the best strategy at the Cornucopia for someone –"

"One thing at a time," Haymitch says, cutting her off. "In a few minutes, we'll be pulling into the station. You'll be put in the hands of your stylists. You're not going to like what they do to you. But no matter what it is, don't resist."

"But –" Katniss begins.

"No buts," he says, cutting her off again. "Don't resist." Without hesitating, he grabs another bottle of alcohol from the table and stalks off. Probably back to his chambers. I'm half hoping he gives himself a shower.

The world outside the train darkens and I assume we're in the tunnel that leads up into the Capitol. I sit down at the table, but I notice Katniss looks horribly distressed. It takes me a minute to figure out why, but once I do I have to restrain myself from voicing my thoughts as well as embracing her in an attempt to make her feel better: she's reliving her father's last moments in the mines. She wasn't there herself, but I know from experience that your imagination is always far worse than the actual thing.

But these thoughts fade from my consciousness almost instantly as the train begins to slow and light floods our compartment once more. Though I really don't want to, I run to the window to stare at the city I've only ever seen on TV and it's far better than it looks on our small screen at home or even the large screen in District 12's main square. The buildings are tall and dazzling, some I can't even see the tops of, but they all seem to be inlaid with crystals. It's hard to look at them for too long before you feel your eyes are witnessing some sort of strobe illusion instead of a bright city. The cars aren't as much of an eyesore as the buildings are, but they're close to it as they are painted colors I didn't even know existed. The people in the cars and waiting for us at the station are the strangest of all: dressed in ridiculous outfits, their faces as well as the rest of their skin, dyed to match the color of their clothes.

I notice that as we pull into the Capitol station, there are people swarming the area, waiting to see who exists the train. Katniss has stepped away. I know she's disgusted by how we are treated and, frankly, so am I, but I don't stop myself from smiling and waving at the crowd. It's an impulsive notion and I keep trying to force myself to stop, but, for whatever reason, no matter how hard I try, I can't.

When I turn away, Katniss is staring at me, looking appalled. I shrug and try to come up with an appropriate response to her look that will justify my actions, but nothing comes to mind and when I finally do find words I want to strangle myself for what they are: "Who knows. One of them may be rich."


	5. Girl on Fire

There are three different people working to make me look "beautiful" and none of them are my stylist. They're only my prep team. Their names are Ambrose, Lamia and Quinlan. Two men and woman that will tear the hair from every space in my body save for my head and scrub me with some sort of soap that I swear had bits of rock in it in an attempt to make me look perfect. I'm at what my prep team is calling the Remake Center and I've been here so long I'm beginning to feel as if this is where I'm going to be spending the rest of my life. It's ridiculous, but after being picked at so much for so long, it's starting to feel that way.

"Those of you from the districts always have so much hair on you," Ambrose comments, tearing more of mine out of my legs. They've already done my arms and torso. Last stop is my legs apparently. I didn't know that everyone in the Capitol was hairless, though, as I look at him, taking in the sight of his sea foam skin, cotton candy hair, and bubblegum lips and eyelashes, I don't find any hair on him anywhere other than his head.

I can tell by the way he speaks that he finds the mass amount of hair on my body strange while I find the opposite strange about him. Though, he isn't the only one. Lamia, a woman with pink skin, golden eyelids and lashes, and purple lips, is also devoid of hair as is Quinlan, a man with sky blue skin and yellow hair. He's the only one out of the three of them that doesn't have any makeup on. Even so, he still looks like something from another planet. In truth, he is from another planet. Compared to District 12, that's what the Capitol is.

As Ambrose pulls away the last bit of my leg hair, I hold back a wince and smile thinly as Lamia compliments my ability to keep from crying out in pain or begging them to stop. Apparently that's what some tributes have done in the past. A part of me wants to laugh. Compared to the majority of the pain that I have been through this is absolutely nothing. Then again, agony is different to everyone and one person's pain can be something another couldn't possibly imagine.

Once all the hair has been removed from my body, the trio slathers me with some sort of lotion that initially stings, but in the end makes my skin feels much better than it did previously. It doesn't surprise me that, while doing this, they take the towel draped across my waist to prevent me from being completely naked and throw it to the floor. They have quite literally torn the hair from every spot on my body and I can't help wondering if they did the same to Katniss. I know that in the Capitol they shave, but District 12 can't afford razors or whatever this fabric is that tears off your hair and makes it feel as though it's taking several layers of skin with it.

"Finished," Lamia says with an enthusiastic smile as she places her hands, slick with lotion, on her hips. It's unnerving to see a grown woman stare at you with a pleased look on her face while you're naked. I know it should be even more uncomfortable when the two men do so as well, but it feels strangely natural with them. Probably because they seem to be thinking of this more as work than playtime.

Quinlan, who was wiping his hands on a towel near the table I was sitting on, turns to me smiling and says, "There. You look much better. And by the time Portia is finished with you you'll be perfect. She works with Cinna. They're two of the most talented stylists in the Capitol. It's a wonder they were given this district."

I don't know who Portia and Cinna are, but I know that they must be good if this prep team is thinking they ought to be given a district they can do more with. District 12's main purpose is to mine coal. It's for this reason that during the opening ceremonies our outfits tend to look ridiculous. It's also why new stylists are given this district to work with. If they can do something to get us noticed by the Capitol crowd that doesn't involve something appalling they'll have to be some sort of gods.

Without warning, the three of them leave the room. Though I barely know them and they've basically just made the last several hours of my life very painful, I don't want them to go. I'm alone in a new place and despite the fact that most of the people here are ridiculous, including my prep team, I'd much rather have them with me than some stylist I don't know. Then again, I didn't know Ambrose, Lamia or Quinlan up until recently, so really my argument is completely invalid.

The woman that walks into the room is most definitely from the Capitol. Her aqua hair pulled back into a messy bun and her lips covered in a thin layer of gloss are more than enough proof. However, her ivory skin, devoid any unusual color and her dark brown eyes unlined by any of the makeup my prep team wore, almost makes her appear as though she is simply an elaborately dressed girl back in District 12. Her clothes are similar to the kind that my mother wears in the kitchen: a pale pink dress with a white apron over the silk.

"Hello Peeta," she says, the look in her eyes calculating. "My name is Portia. I work with your fellow tribute's stylist Cinna."

When she finishes speaking, she gives me a thin smile and holds out her hand. Tentatively, I take it and her face brightens considerably. This makes me wary, but the gentle squeeze she gives my hand reassures me, reminding me of how I did the same to Katniss at the reaping. I don't know what it means to her, but for me it is a symbol of friendship and trust.

Releasing her grip on my fingers, she circles me, measuring every inch of me with her eyes. Like with Ambrose and Quinlan, I am not embarrassed because she's treating my body like a mannequin she has to dress, not something she has been given to play around with, though I suppose in a way that's what I am.

Finally, she stops moving, stands directly in front of me and looks me up and down once. Then, as though coming to an important decision, she steps back, crosses her arms over her chest and says, "What are your feelings on fire?"

This takes me aback. Typically, the outfits for District 12 revolve around coal mining. What fire has to do with it, I don't know. At least at first. Then it dawns on me and I can tell Portia realizes when it does since she smirks, daring me to reject her idea. Of course, I don't I simply tell her, "Well, I'm not afraid of it."

Another four hours later, I am a black unitard that covers every inch of my body from my neck down. There are leather boots laced up to my knees. I also have a cape that is several streams of orange, red and yellow along with a headpiece made of something similar. Portia told me that Katniss will be dressed in the exact same outfit. She also told me that our costumes are going to become torches before our chariot rolls out into the Capitol streets. Needless to say, I'm more nervous than excited at this point. Still, I follow Portia and the prep team down to the lower levels of the Remake Center, which contains the chariots for the opening ceremonies. Once there, I spot Katniss and the man who can only be her stylist, Cinna, standing next to what must be our chariot. He's holding onto a small torch and I can see in her eyes she looks just as frightened as I do. At least I'm not alone in this. We can burn together I suppose.

Portia leads me up to the chariot after congratulating Cinna – apparently my going up in flames was his idea. She's arranging me next to Katniss, adjusting my cape and headdress when Katniss leans towards me and whispers, "What do you think? About the fire?" I can tell from her tone she's just as unnerved as I am.

"I'll rip off your cape if you rip off mine," I respond through gritted teeth, making my anxiety just as apparent as hers, but at this point I don't really care how I sound. If I'm going to burn to death in front of the entire country, I'm going to need to try to find a way to keep my screams of pain at bay.

"Deal," Katniss responds. I know she's thinking the same thing I am: maybe if we can tear off our capes just as our chariot heads into the city streets, we'll be able to avoid be charred to black bits. "I know we promised Haymitch we'd do exactly as they said, but I don't think he considered this angle."

"Where is Haymitch, anyway?" I ask, glancing around. "Isn't he supposed to protect us from this sort of thing?"

"With all that alcohol in him, it's probably not advisable to have him around an open flame," she replies.

Though her voice sounds anxious and her eyes are darting around the room as well, we both burst out laughing. We're both hysterical from the fact we're going to be set on fire in only a few moments and then be thrown into an arena to die in only a few days.  _But she's not going to die,_ I remind myself.  _Not before you do at any rate._

The opening music begins, deafening us as the massive doors of the Remake Center open, revealing the Capitol's city streets. I know from watching previous Hunger Games that the ride around what is called the City Circle will last just under twenty minutes. Then we'll be welcomed, hear the Panem anthem and be escorted to the training center, our home until the Games officially begin.

Out of the corner of my eye, I notice the tributes from District 1 leaving the area, the horses pulling their chariot the color of snow. They're dressed in jewels, their bodies painted to sparkle like them. The crowd, of course, loves them. They're from a wealthy district, a district stylists can work with. I'm beginning to feel as though what Portia and Cinna came up with is something of a last resort. Clearly they'd rather us be a spectacle during the opening ceremony by dying instead of nothing at all in a far safer outfit.

I feel as if this thought is just running through my head when, already, Katniss and I are lined up to go. I look outside and see the dark overcast sky. Maybe, if we're lucky, it'll start raining and put out the fires so we won't have to burn our hands in an attempt to take off what's trying to turn us into a bonfire.

Just then Cinna approaches us, holding some sort of torch ablaze with what will surely be our downfall. "Here we go then," I hear him say and then he's lighting Katniss' cape on fire. I tense when he moves from her to me, but instead of an intense, burning heat, I feel something closer to a summer breeze. I glance at Katniss. She seems to be just as surprised as I am. I swallow, facing forward once more when Cinna comes to the front of the chariot to alight our headdresses as well.

Climbing down from his perch on the front of the chariot, he lets out a relieved sigh – clearly he was just as nervous about this as we were – and says, "It works." I glance in his direction with my eyes as he gently cups Katniss' cheek. "Remember, heads high. Smiles. They're going to love you." I know he's referring to the both of us, but it's clear that he says this mostly for Katniss' benefit. After all, he's her stylist, not mine.

Jumping off the chariot, Cinna says something else. It's clear he has one last idea, but I don't know what it is he says. However, when Katniss asks, "What's he saying?" I glance towards him and say, "I think he said for us to hold hands." That's untrue. I actually have no idea what he said, but now is as good a time as any to for the first – and last – time feel Katniss' palm in mine. Besides, why not now? She looks beautiful. The flames frame her face perfectly. Perhaps when she goes home, Cinna will design all her clothes and they'll all be writhed in fire. I give a small smile as Cinna gives us the thumbs up – apparently he thought it was a good idea – wishing I could be there to see her looking so lovely.

Entering the city, the Capitol's population immediately begins screaming for us. I don't have to look on the large screens placed sporadically throughout the area. I know from looking at Katniss earlier just how wonderful we appear. Her more than me, obviously. The crowd is shouting her name and when I glance towards her, I see why. She's blowing kisses, waving happily, catching roses thrown her way and being someone she really isn't. A part of me likes this side of her. So carefree, so happy. But it's not Katniss. Not the real Katniss. Not the Katniss that I care for. This is someone else and when we begin to slow, entering the City Circle, I am thankful that her behavior is only a temporary thing.

Suddenly, I feel her fingers, which have been clutching mine so tightly I can barely feel them anymore, begin to loosen. However, to keep her from letting go, I grasp her hand more firmly. "No," I say, glancing towards her. "Don't let go of me. Please. I might fall out of this thing." Part of that is true, but in all actuality I just want to continue holding her hand. I want to hold it for as long as I can before I can never hold it again.

"Okay," she responds simply, her grip strengthening once more. I can tell by the way she looks at me and the way she speaks that she is uncomfortable with this and I can understand why. She doesn't want to become my friend just to have to kill me later. What she doesn't understand is I will let her kill me, friend or not. In fact, if it's down to the two of us, I'll kill myself if she won't kill me. She has to go home. She has to win. She has to know to know that.

I'm so caught up in my thoughts of protecting Katniss that I don't hear any of President Snow's speech. I'm only jolted back into reality when the doors of the Remake Center shut behind us and I'm climbing off of the chariot, Katniss' hand finally releasing mine. I watch her do this as Cinna and Portia remove our capes and headdresses, extinguishing them with some sort of substance in a canister. A great sadness wells in my chest. I knew this moment had to come. Wasn't I just thinking about it only moments earlier? Still, feeling the warmth of her hand abandon mine, makes me swallow a lump in my throat.

To hide my sadness, I take a shuddering breath and say, "Thanks for keeping hold of me. I was getting a little shaky there."

"It didn't show," she responds, rubbing her stiff fingers. "I'm sure no one noticed."

"I'm sure they didn't notice anything but you," I say before I can stop myself. "You should wear flames more often. They suit you." I smile at her. It's a genuine smile, one that is meant to reassure her and warm her heart, but I can tell from the look in her eyes that she doesn't take it that way. She thinks I'm manipulating her and it's for this reason that when she kisses the bruise on my cheek, I don't feel any surge of warmth rush through me. Instead, I shiver, knowing that she has every intention to kill me.


	6. Remembrance

The Training Center has fourteen floors, including the gym, where the tributes train, and the main floor. Effie Trinket leads Katniss and myself to an elevator on the far end of the main floor. There are numbered buttons on either side of the doors. They go from 1 to 12. It's clear that if you press any one of these numbers you will be taken to the floor that is designed for that particular district. Evidently, Effie's thumb jambs the number 12 and we fly upwards. The walls are transparent and I glance out of the back one to watch the people on the ground below shrink. I can't help the smile that crosses my lips when I see the tributes from the wealthier districts, the ones who think they're so much better than everyone, turn into ants I could easily squish.

I hardly notice when the elevator stops, but I am jolted from my thoughts once it does. As the doors open and I step out onto the floor made just for Katniss and myself, I realize that Effie has been speaking for quite some time now. I blink, coming into the conversation she's trying to have with us as she's saying, "I've been very mysterious though. Because, of course, Haymitch hasn't bothered to tell me your strategies. But I've done my best with what I've had to work with. How Katniss sacrificed herself for her sister. How you've both successfully struggled to overcome the barbarism of your district."

From this I gather she's talking about her attempt at winning over some sponsors. I can't help wondering if these words worked. They don't sound promising, especially now that our moment of glory is over and tomorrow we're going to have to face the fact we really can't do anything. Or at least I can't. Katniss can hunt. She's going to be fine in the arena. This doesn't mean I'm not going to protect her. Of course I am. I just know that she has a far better chance of survival than I ever did.

"Everyone has their restrictions, naturally," Effie goes on. "You being from the coal district. But I said, and this was very clever of me, I said, 'Well, if you put enough pressure on coal it turns it to pearls!'"

Despite this fact being very, very wrong, Katniss and I both give her a wary smile. She looks to happy for us to do anything else. I don't think I've ever seen anyone look this cheerful in my life. Then again, most people in District 12 don't have much cause to be happy. Most of them are dying from starvation and those that aren't are trying to find a way to keep themselves from getting to that point.

"Unfortunately, I can't seal the sponsor deals for you," Effie reminds us. "Only Haymitch can do that. But don't worry, I'll get him to the table at gunpoint if necessary."

Effie Trinket has many shortcomings, but the one thing I know I can always count on her for is doing what she says she will. She doesn't make promises she doesn't intend to keep. She's smarter than that. The image of her tying Haymitch to a table, pressing the barrel of a gun to his temple makes me smirk and I have to hold back a giggle.

Again, Katniss and I are led to our own separate quarters. Mine are far larger than they were on the train, though very similar. There is a four-poster bed, a pair of nightstands on either side, but unlike the train, there is no dresser here. I see the clothes I picked out on the train are folded neatly at the end of the mattress. I pull off the unitard Portia put me in and don't bother to place it somewhere that will be easily accessible for whomever comes to collect it. I'm too exhausted for that. I know I'm still going to have to go to dinner, but for now I'm going to relax.

I take a shower in what appears to be more of a place where you can experiment with water. I press a few of the hundreds of buttons and, somehow, come up with a nice warm spray. I stand in the water for longer than I can count, but apparently it isn't too long because when I come out, the hands on the clock haven't moved that far. I dress in the clothes laid out for me and head back towards the main room where the kitchen is intermixed with the sitting room. There I find Cinna and Portia standing out on the balcony. Curious, I walk over to them, my hands behind my back.

"I'm sure you find it far more beautiful than we do," says Portia softly. The clothes she is dressed in now are closer to my black unitard than what she had on at the Remake Center and for a moment, it's her clothes I think she's talking about. However, when I notice her smiling down at me, her face no longer devoid of makeup, though there isn't that much now either, I know she's speaking of the city. I glance in the direction Cinna is and swallow staring at the brightly lit buildings, listen to the cheering in the street mixed with the noise of cars and other vehicles going through the streets at night. I suppose in the way that Portia is suggesting, I do find the Capitol beautiful, but if I were to give my true opinion, I'm sure bad things would befall me. In truth, I find the Capitol to be a wolf in sheepskin.

Knowing that Portia is still waiting for an answer, I take a deep breath and nod. "Yeah, I guess so, though that's only because I've never seen it before and you've lived here all your life." For the first time I wonder if there are any children in the Capitol. I certainly haven't seen any yet and now I'm beginning to think I never will. At least, I won't see a child that is not participating in this year's Games.

Effie and Katniss enter the dining room before Portia can respond. Cinna doesn't say anything or look my way once as we head back inside to sit at the table where we learn that our stylists will be joining us for dinner as will Haymitch. I glance towards Katniss and can see the relief on her face. She's glad that they're here too. If I have to go through another meal with only Haymitch and Effie as chaperones, I think I'll either kill myself or them.

A young man dressed in white offers myself and Katniss wine. I don't take any, but she does. However, I can tell by her expression when she drinks it that it's far too bitter for her taste. I only ever had wine once and I can't say that I ever want any again. It wasn't a good experience for me to say the least, but alcohol in general has upset me. Which is the reason I wonder why Haymitch doesn't disgust me more than he already does. He's basically made of alcohol.

It's just then that the man himself enters the dining room. For the first time I can remember, he looks relatively clean and sober. His hair is brushed back and the clothes he's wearing aren't covered in stains or smell bad. When the food comes and he begins wolfing down his soup, I realize that this is the first time I've ever seen him eat. I take a moment before I begin my meal to stare at my mentor's torso. I can't tell if his clothes are loose fitting or not, but that doesn't stop me from wondering if beneath them he's only skin and bones.

For a while, I sit and eat silently. Haymitch, Effie, Portia and Cinna are all eating and talking about the opening ceremony. I don't want to have any part of it, so I stare at my plate, carefully putting random pieces of food into my mouth. I've just finished my soup and am heading onto my bowl of noodles covered in some sort of green sauce when a girl with vibrant read hair comes into the room, carrying a teetering cake covered in flames. Soon the fire dies down and as it does Katniss asks, "What makes it burn? Is it alcohol?"

She sounds disgusted and I don't blame her. I'm opening my mouth to agree with her when she says, "That's the last thing I wa – oh! I know you!"

The stunned silence that befalls the table, coupled with the look of horror that crosses the redheaded girl's face, completely assures me that what Katniss has just said is not a good thing. She isn't supposed to know this girl and the girl clearly doesn't want to be known. This is confirmed all the more when the girl shakes her head quickly and exits the room just as fast.

"Don't be ridiculous, Katniss," says Effie in a disgusted tone the moment the girl has vanished. "How could you possibly know an Avox? The very thought."

"What's an Avox?" Katniss asks right before I do.

"Someone who committed a crime. They cut her tongue so she can't speak," Haymitch explains. "She's probably a traitor of some sort. Not likely you'd know her."

"And even if you did, you're not to speak to one of them unless it's to give an order," Effie adds. "Of course, you don't really know her."

Even though everyone is trying to convince Katniss that she doesn't know this person, I can see from the look on her face that they're all wrong and she does. I glance the way the girl left, wondering where she could have seen someone like that before. There aren't any redheaded people in District 12. "No, I guess not, I just –"

I watch Katniss stare at her food, looking nervous. She's stuttering. That's not something she does normally and so she doesn't get in trouble as well as isn't in a state of nervous shock anymore, I snap my fingers, saying in a triumphant voice, "Delly Cartwright. That's who it is. I kept thinking she looked familiar as well. Then I realized she's a dead ringer for Delly."

Delly Cartwright actually looks nothing like that redheaded girl, so what I'm saying is all a lie. However, I am trying to keep Katniss from getting in trouble and Delly was the first name that came into my head. I don't know why. I don't really talk to her, though she is nice to everyone and if I wanted to speak with her she would treat me as though what I had to say was the most important thing in the world. She's a very cubby, sweet, blonde girl, but, again, she looks nothing like the Avox.

"Of course," Katniss says, the relief in her words almost tangible. "That's who I was thinking of. It must be the hair."

I nod, saying, "Something about the eyes too."

The tension that could have only moments ago been severed by a very sharp knife, vanishes. Everyone lets out a breath as Cinna says, "Oh, well. If that's all it is. And yes, the cake has spirits, but all the alcohol has burned off. I ordered it specially in honor of your fiery debut."

We all have a slice of cake. I'm so caught up in trying to figure out why Katniss recognizes the Avox girl that I barely eat any of it. My eyes are glazed over as we watch the replay of the opening ceremonies. I don't even notice the both of us on the television. Everyone else in the room does. There's a collective sigh that proves this.

"Whose idea was the hand holding?" asks Haymitch.

I open my mouth to take credit for it, but to my surprise Portia says, "Cinna's."

Apparently, my 'guess' as to what Cinna was saying was more accurate than I thought.

"Just the perfect touch of rebellion. Very nice." Haymitch says, smirking slightly, leaning back in his chair. We watch for a little while longer before he adds, "Tomorrow morning is the first training session. Meet me for breakfast and I'll tell you exactly how I want you to play it. Now go get some sleep while the grown-ups talk."

I raise an eyebrow and allow my mouth to quirk up into a sarcastic smile, not truly thinking Haymitch meant what he said, but when I catch his eye I know he's not kidding. Sighing, I follow Katniss out of the room and down the hall to our rooms. When we reach hers, I lean against the door frame. I'm not going to stop her from going into her room and if she doesn't want to talk about this, I suppose I'll have to live with not knowing, but it's worth a shot.

"So, Delly Cartwright. Imagine finding her lookalike here." I give her a knowing smirk.

I know she knows I want to hear the story and I also can see that she really doesn't want to tell me. I am about to tell her I'm sorry and that I shouldn't have asked when I notice that there's something else in her eyes: hesitation. So she does want to tell me the story. She just doesn't know how and at any rate, talking about it down here really wouldn't be a good idea. I glance towards the ceiling, wondering if we can get to the roof. If we can't, my entire plan will go awry, but again, it won't help anything if I don't at least attempt to get us up there.

"Have you been on the roof yet?" I ask, starting back down the hall. "Cinna showed me. You can practically see the whole city. The wind's a bit loud though."

Cinna hasn't shown me anything. The only reason I'm saying we can see the city is because when I was out on the balcony I could see a great deal of it already. The final bit is just a guess, but I'm sure it has truth to it. I would climb to the roof of the bakery occasionally when I didn't want my mother to find me. On a mildly windy day, I could have been shouting at her and she never would have found me. However, that was only on the top of a two story bakery. Here we'll be atop a fourteen story building. The wind didn't seem to be blowing when I was on the balcony and even if it was, it was hardly noticeable, but when you're on a roof, unprotected by a room inside, you're at the mercy of the elements.

"Can we just go up?" Katniss asks, sounding slightly nervous.

"Sure, come on," I respond. I don't actually know this for sure, but, luckily enough, the door that leads to the roof is open. I bound up the stairs, ending up in a room that is more like a dome. I wait for Katniss to follow before I go out of the door in the side of the dome and find myself overlooking the city as though from the sky. I could be flying. However, if I were flying I would be free and I am far from that.

The both of us walk up to the railing lining the roof and look down to the streets below. The people look like a bunch of multicolored ants. Their cars look like slightly larger ants. There's a strange metallic tinkling, but I don't think much about it. I simply stare down at the lively city. If I were back in District 12, I'm sure I'd be sleeping right now or, at least, finishing up one last batch of bread before doing so.

Coming back to reality, I say, "I asked Cinna why they let us up here. Weren't they worried that some of the tributes might decide to jump right over the side?"

"What'd he say?" Katniss asks.

"You can't," I respond. I hold out my hand into what appears to be empty space until I hear a sharp zap and I jump back, feeling the electric shock running through me. "Some kind of electric field throws you back on the roof."

Really it was my father who told me about the invisible electric field surrounding the roof of the Training Center. I asked him a long time ago why there was no way to keep people from falling and he explained. This was long before I knew that tributes could even access the roof. In fact, I didn't know until only a few moments ago and I don't know how my father even learned of this. However, I'm telling Katniss this as much as myself. I wanted to see if what my father said was true. The stinging in my hand says most definitely yes.

"Always worried about our safety," she says, sounding irritated. Then her voice quiets considerably as she adds, "Do you think they're watching us now?"

"Maybe," I say. "Come see the garden."

I spotted it when I was looking towards her only moments after we reached the roof. It's on the other side of the dome. Here there is a small garden with flower beds and potted trees. There are wind chimes hanging from the branches, explaining the tinkling. The wind mixed with the chimes and the rustling of the tree leaves reassures me that we won't be overheard.

Bending down to examine one of the flowers, Katniss whispers, "We were hunting in the woods one day. Hidden, waiting for game."

"You and your father?" I ask my voice just as soft.

"No, my friend Gale," she clarifies. "Suddenly all the birds stopped singing at once. Except one. As if it were giving a warning call. And then we saw her. I'm sure it was the same girl. A boy was with her. Their clothes were tattered. They had dark circles under their eyes from no sleep. They were running as if their lives depended on it."

She is silent for a moment. I wonder if Gale is the boy I've thought was her cousin all these years. Turns out he's only her friend. Something clenches my heart in my chest as I realize there is a possibility he could be something more.

"The hovercraft appeared out of nowhere," she continues. "I mean, one moment the sky was empty and the next it was there. It didn't make a sound, but they saw it. A net dropped down on the girl and carried her up, fast, so fast like the elevator. They shot some sort of spear through the boy. It was attached to a cable and they hauled him up as well. But I'm certain he was dead. We heard the girl scream once. The boy's name, I think. Then it was gone, the hovercraft. Vanished into thin air. And the birds began to sing again, as if nothing had happened."

"Did they see you?" I ask, thoroughly absorbed in her story.

"I don't know. We were under a shelf of rock," she responds. However, I can tell from the look on her face, even if I can barely see it that she does know. I don't want to know anymore. Not because I am afraid it will make me look at Katniss differently, but because I don't know if she could tell me without getting even more upset. As it is she's shivering.

"You're shivering," I say, voicing my thoughts. In an attempt to stop this, I take off my jacket and wrap it around her shoulders. This is another thing I've always wanted to do, but I always thought it would be in a different context. I wanted to take a walk with her once, perhaps in the rain. When she started shivering from the cold and wet, I would take off my coat and wrap it around her. We would be happy and safe. Not standing on top of a building where we are being trained to die.

"They were from here?" I ask as I secure a button at her neck so it won't fall off.

Katniss only nods.

"Where do you suppose they were going?" I ask, stepping back and looking in her eyes.

"I don't know that," she says. "Or why they would leave here." She sounds irritated again and this time I have to agree with her. How was she supposed to know where they were headed off to? Especially if she didn't speak with them. From what I've heard it sounds like she didn't really have time to anyhow. As to why they would leave, that I understand. This place is too bright, too perfect. Maybe there are some people in the Capitol who have a conscience and when the Games come around they're reminded they are going to be forced to watch children kill one another. I wonder if that is what the girl was running from, trying to get away from this barbaric society. Effie called our district barbaric, but I don't see how that can be true when we're not the ones coming up with terrible ways to kill kids every day.

"I'd leave here," I say before I can really think about it. I look around, searching for the cameras that must have caught that sentence as well as the guards that are surely going to come for me, but when neither appear, I laugh, trying to make it seem as though this isn't an insult against the Capitol. For good measure, I add, "I'd go home now if they let me. But you have to admit, the food's prime."

Though, I'm pretty sure I've dissuaded anyone who heard what I just said that I'm not insulting the Capitol, I still want to get off the roof, so I say, "It's getting chilly. We better go in." The dome is far warmer and cheerier than it was when we first arrived. After such a dark story, I guess I shouldn't be all that surprised it is. "Your friend Gale. He's the one who took your sister away at the reaping?" I ask, trying to confirm my suspicions.

"Yes," she says. "Do you know him?"

"Not really," I reply. "I hear the girls talk about him a lot. I thought he was your cousin or something. You favor each other." The last bit is a nudge to see if she does have feelings for him, but the response I receive is disappointing.

"No, we're not related."

It reveals nothing. Still, I nod, keeping my face emotionless. The last thing I want is for Katniss to see the pain in my eyes at knowing she could be with someone else. I don't have any right to tell her what to do and not do, but that doesn't change the fact I'd be sad if someone else had managed to claim her. "Did he come to say good-bye to you?"

"Yes," she says. I notice she's looking at me out of the corner of her eye, but I don't turn. "So did you father. He brought me cookies."

I raise an eyebrow. This is news to me. I'm sure that were I anyone else, I wouldn't have the faintest idea as to why my father chose to say goodbye to Katniss, but I do know why. This doesn't change the fact I'm surprised however. It's for this reason I start my sentence with a question instead of getting straight to the point. "Really? Well, he likes you and your sister. I think he wishes he had a daughter instead of a houseful of boys."

I don't know if that's true or not, but he does seem to be awfully sad about having the three of us around instead of a girl or two as well. I don't doubt my father loves me, but I think he would have preferred to have a girl he could protect and take care of. Not a boy his wife beats and tells him constantly is the scum of the earth. I wonder if now that I'm gone he's started to believe her.

"He knew your mother when they were kids," I say, more to preoccupy my own mind instead of engage in a conversation with Katniss.

"Oh, yes," she responds. "She grew up in town."

It's then we reach her door and, for once, a part of me is relieved when Katniss gives me back my jacket, saying, "See you in the morning then."

I give a simple, "See you," back before I head back down the hall.

The minute I reach my room, I open the door and shut it, leaning against the wood with my eyes closed. I don't know if it's Katniss' story or the thoughts of my father that have upset me, but I feel as though I could sleep for a thousand years. I'm sure that would be far more preferable to whatever else I'm going to have to face in my last week or so of life. However, if I slept, wouldn't I just be thrust into dreams of my mother, of Katniss dying and me unable to save her, of my father finally rejecting me too? It's my dreams that are horrifying. Real life is terrible too, yes, but things that you can normally prevent in reality happen in dreams. The mind is an awful place. I visit its darkest corners far too often.


	7. The Training Center

Not for the time, my dreams are filled with nightmares of my life back in District 12. The day of the reaping reappears in my mind's eye over and over again. I'm not chosen and when I get back to the bakery, my mother beats me within an inch of my life. I can't get away or cry out for help. Not that if I could anyone would come to my rescue. My father may be a kind man, but he's never once stopped my mother from hurting me. My brothers have done just as much.

When I wake up, the sun still isn't up and I can't help wondering what time it is. I can't have slept very long. There aren't any clocks of any sort in my room and a part of me says that venturing out at this time wouldn't be wise. Instead, I go into the bathroom and take a shower. The warm water calms me, but I don't do anything except lean against the tiled wall, trying to get the images from my nightmares out of my mind. I know I won't be able to, but I try anyhow. I wonder if this is why Haymitch drinks so much…because he doesn't know how else to get the bad thoughts to go away.

For a split second, I consider that he may be smart to let alcohol wash away his worries, but then I remind myself that I can't do that and really he shouldn't either. It doesn't matter how much alcohol he puts into his system. In the end, his troubles will always be there when he comes out of his drunken stupor and they'll be worse than ever. In this moment, I feel sorry for Haymitch and wish there was something I could do to help him. However, I've learned that you can only help people if they want to be helped and I'm sure that's not what he wants. He doesn't want to have to find another way to cope with the past.

I don't get out of the shower until my fingers and toes are wrinkled. By that time the sun has come up and I figure that either I spent a ridiculous amount of time in there or it wasn't as early in the morning as I thought it was. I take my time getting dressed. I'm no longer wearing the white shirt and black trousers. Now I have a completely different outfit laid out for me. The shirt is short sleeved and black save for the red and gray stripes on the arms. In the black stripe in the middle of the colored stripes there is a box with the number 12 in the center. The pants are the same, only there is no number on these. Only the stripes. On the floor is a pair of sturdy leather boots. Clearly, this is the outfit I'm going to be wearing in the Training Center today.

I dress slowly. I don't know why, but I'm not quite ready to leave this room. I'm going to be occupying it for another three nights, but that doesn't change the fact that I already feel now I'm truly going into the Games.

Once I'm fully dressed, I force myself to leave my room. I see Haymitch in the hallway and the two of us walk to the dining room. Katniss is already there. It's clear she's had her breakfast and the basket of rolls in front of her is just her desert. I smile slightly when I see she's dipping bits of the bread into her mug of hot chocolate. Though I am happy to see her, it's clear she's not happy to see me. I see a faint irritation in her eyes when I sit down across from her. However, I force myself to focus on my food instead of her feelings.

After I've finished my breakfast, Katniss has finished hers and Haymitch pushes away his bowl of stew, he pulls out a small flask. It's clear what it's filled with the moment he drinks what I'm assuming had to be at least half of its contents. When he's finished that, he leans forward, elbows on the table and says, "So, let's get down to business. Training. First off, if you like, I'll coach you separately. Decide now."

"Why would you coach us separately?" Katniss asks.

"Say if you had a secret skill you might not want the other to know," he responds.

I glance at Katniss, whom, I'm surprised to find, is staring at me as well. "I don't have any secret skills," I say, turning back to Haymitch. "And I already know what yours is, right? I mean, I've eaten enough of your squirrels.

For whatever reason, she looks surprised. I suppose she never thought that I might actually eat what she brings us. My father enjoys her meat immensely. In fact, he enjoys it almost more than the meat we occasionally buy from the butcher. I've always wondered why, but I suppose that when your food is coming from someone you know and care about, it tastes better than it would otherwise.

"You can coach us together," Katniss says as I nod.

"All right, so give me some idea of what you can do," Haymitch says.

"I can't do anything," I say automatically. "Unless you count baking bread."

"Sorry, I don't," Haymitch responds.  _Though not,_ I think. "Katniss. I already know you're handy with a knife."

"Not really," she says. "But I can hunt. With a bow and arrow."

"And you're good?" Haymitch asks.

She hesitates and I don't know why. She doesn't have to be modest. She's an amazing hunter. I've never seen her use anything, seeing as they don't allow weapons in the district to prevent an uprising, but from what my father has brought in, I know she is wonderful. Which is why I'm surprised when she says, "I'm all right."

"She's excellent," I say before I can stop myself. "My father buys her squirrels. He always comments on how the arrows never pierce the body. She hits every one in the eye. It's the same with the rabbits she sells the butcher. She can even bring down deer."

It's clear I've surprised her by my knowledge. However, I'm sure that's only part of it. She's also surprised that I'm telling Haymitch how good she is. I suppose that if I didn't care about her, I wouldn't be saying this to begin with, but I've vowed to keep her alive in the arena and I know that my protecting of her starts now.

"What are you doing?" she asks, her voice full of suspicion.

"What are you doing?" I respond. "If he's going to help you, he has to know what you're capable of. Don't underrate yourself."

For whatever reason, this seems to upset her. "What about you? I've seen you in the market. You can lift hundred-pound bags of flour," she retorts, her brows narrowed. "Tell him that. That's not nothing."

"Yes, and I'm sure the arena will be full of bags of flour for me to chuck at people. It's not like being able to use a weapon. You know it isn't," I retort, my own voice chilling.

"He can wrestle," she says, turning to Haymitch. "He came in second in our school competition last year, only after his brother."

"What use is that?" I say, sounding both confused and disgusted. "How many times have you seen someone wrestle someone to death?"

"There's always hand-to-hand combat," she says, her voice rising. "All you need is to come up with a knife, and you'll at least stand a chance. If I get jumped, I'm dead!"

"But you don't!" I shout back. "You'll be living up in some tree eating raw squirrels and picking off people with arrows. You know what my mother said to me when she came to say good-bye as if to cheer me up, she says maybe District Twelve will finally have a winner. Then I realized, she didn't mean me, she meant you!"

"Oh, she meant you," Katniss responds, rolling her eyes, waving away my comment.

"She said, 'She's a survivor, that one.'  _She_  is," I say.

Why I told her this, I don't know. She doesn't know how my mother treats me. I know she has some clue, but she doesn't fully understand and probably never will. She has a mother that loves her and has never beaten her or treated her cruelly. She has a sister who loves her just as much. She doesn't understand what it's like to have an entire family that refuses to help you.

When she responds, her voice is quieter and sounds far younger than before. "But only because someone helped me."

Instantly, I know what she's talking about. The day I gave her the bread. My eyes flit down to the roll in her hands. I helped her then because she would have died if I hadn't. She would have died and I couldn't just let her die. My mother was furious, but that was nothing. A beating is nothing compared to a girl's life. Still, I shrug, saying, "People will help you in the arena. They'll be tripping over each other to sponsor you."

"No more than you," she says.

I roll my eyes, glancing at Haymitch for only a moment. "She has no idea. The effect she can have," I say in a soft, angry voice. I run my nail along the wood grain in the table, refusing to look Katniss in the eye. I can't let myself think about that day. Otherwise my emotions will show. I'm unsure if she fully understood what I was saying, but what I meant was she has no idea the effect she can have on other people. Like myself. She doesn't know what she can make others feel that allows them to want to be around her. She doesn't understand that she is so strong and brilliant, and at the same time kind and generous that people care for her and want her to succeed in life, they want to know her and be friends with her.

She doesn't take it this way. When I glance back at her, she's glaring at the roll in between her fingers. I suppose she took what I said as an insult instead of a compliment.  _All the better,_ I think. It'll be easier for her to kill me in the arena if she hates me.

After a brief silence, Haymitch says, a smirk on his lips "Well then. Well, well, well. Katniss, there's no guarantee there'll be bows and arrows in the arena, but during your private session with the Gamemakers, show them what you can do. Until then, stay clear of archery. Are you any good at trapping?"

"I know a few basic snares," she mutters.

"That may be significant in terms of food," Haymitch tells her. "And, Peeta, she's right, never underestimate strength in the arena. Very often, physical power tilts the advantage to the player. In the Training center, they will have weights, but don't reveal how much you can lift in front of the other tributes. Spend the time trying to learn something you don't know. Throw a spear. Swing a mace. Learn to tie a decent knot. Save showing what you're best at until your private sessions. Are we clear?"

The both of us nod.

"On last thing. In public, I want you by each other's side every minute," he adds. Instantly, the both of us begin to protest. I'm sure Katniss' reasons are different than mine, but at any rate, Haymitch slams his hand down on the table. "Every minute! It's not open for discussion! You agreed to do as I said! You will be together, you will appear amiable to each other. Now get out. Meet Effie at the elevator at ten for training."

Katniss leaves immediately, slamming the door shut behind her. I glare in her direction, not moving. I know I shouldn't be angry at her for not knowing that I'm trying to protect her, not given her a disadvantage, but if she did know, then this wouldn't be working. She would never allow me to protect her. Not because she cares about my safety, but because she doesn't want anyone to help her. She's taken care of herself for far too long to allow anyone to help her now.

I'm just thinking, again, about what I'm going to try to do to keep her alive when it dawns on me: wouldn't my love for her be an advantage in her direction in the arena? It's the tributes that people  _want_  or find desirable that get the most sponsors and therefore have a better chance of survival. I glance towards Haymitch. I half expect him to kick me out of the dining room, but he doesn't. I debate as to whether or not I should tell him what I'm thinking right now, but I decide against it. I'll wait until our interviews.

At ten, Effie and I wait by the elevators for Katniss. When she arrives, I clench my hands into fists. Not because I'm angry with her, but because her slamming the door was obviously because she wanted to show me how much she disliked me and no matter what I try to tell myself that stung. In fact, it still stings. That's why I say nothing on our ride down to the actual training rooms that are in the basement.

When the doors open, a large gymnasium filled with weapons and obstacle courses is revealed. Every other tribute is already there. However, when I glance at the clock hanging on the wall, I see it isn't ten yet. I also notice Katniss and I are the only ones dressed alike. Part of Haymitch's strategy – whatever that is.

We're given a quick rundown of the different stations we can visit. I notice Katniss glancing around as the head trainer talks. I follow her eyes and notice they stop on the tributes from the wealthier districts, the ones we call the Careers. They're trained before they even reach the arena. Technically that's not allowed, but it always happens. In some ways, I envy them if only because they have the advantage.

Sure enough, the moment the head trainer finishes speaking, they head to the deadly weapons to show off their skills. It's slightly tempted to go over there and attempt to learn how to use a sword or a knife. I can tell that Katniss is eyeing the bows at the archery range, but she can't go there yet. In an attempt to remind her of this, I nudge her arm, saying, "Where would you like to start?"

She jumps. She'd forgotten I was here apparently. She glances towards me before gazing around at the other tributes, the ones who aren't even strong as we are, the ones from the poorer districts. She feels sorry for them and I do too. If it wasn't forbidden or if I didn't think it wouldn't give them a slight advantage, I might go over and help them, try to teach them how to use certain weapons. I'm sure they have some idea from watching past Hunger Games, but it'll still be hard for them to get a hang of it. I'm strong and muscular, far more well fed that they are. If I wanted, I could help them. I'm considering doing this, convinced that Katniss would still be able to take care of herself, when she breaks me out of my thoughts by saying, "Suppose we tie some knots."

"Right you are," I respond instantly.

We spend a fair amount of time at this station. The instructor even shows us how to make a simple snare that could have an opponent dangling by their leg from a tree. The thought of one of the large Career tributes hanging from a tree because they didn't see my rope puts a smile on my face. Katniss isn't as amused as I am. She's taking this far more seriously than I am. She's determined to survive, while I've already accepted the fact I'm going to die.

Once finished with this station, we move on to camouflage. This station I'm actually excited about. It involves decorating yourself to help blend in with your surroundings. I instantly dip my fingers in the different substances – mud, clay and berry juices to name a few – swirling them around on my arm, trying to make it appear as though my skin is only a part of the ground where the sun is shining. I don't notice right away, but the instructor of this station is clearly impressed by my work. I smile and return to my work.

"I do the cakes," I tell Katniss, staring at my painted skin.

"The cakes?" she asks, clearly having been distracted by something else. "What cakes?"

"At home," I clarify. "The iced ones for the bakery."

It used to be my father who would make these. However, when I got old enough he started teaching me how to use frosting, how to decorate things to make them look beautiful. Finally, he told me that I had long since surpassed him in this area and he handed over the decorating to me. I can't say I minded. In fact, it was one of the few things that made me happy back at home. If I was having a bad day, I'd just go into the kitchen and decorate one of the cakes he'd laid out. I always felt better afterwards, even if my tears were seeping into the food.

She stares at the painted space on my arm and I can tell from her expression, something about my talent angers her. I don't think I'll ever know what has made her despise me so.

"It's lovely," she says, managing to sound both amiable and annoyed. "If only you could frost someone to death."

"Don't be so superior," I begin, attempting to cheer her up or at least not hate me so much. "You can never tell what you'll find in the arena. Say it's actually a giant cake –"

"Say we move on," she cuts in.

For the next three days, this is how things go. We don't speak much, but we do learn some useful skills. Katniss knows how to do the majority of them already, but her talents only increase as she learns how to do things better than before. We try our best to seem only sort of good at any one thing, but when it comes time for hand-to-hand combat, I can't stop myself from going all out. Katniss does the same with the edible plants test. However, per Haymitch's instruction, she stays away from the bows and I stay away from the weights.

We sit together during our lunch each day. Though we eat breakfast and dinner on our floor, we have our lunches in the cafeteria off the gym. In a way, it feels like school. Except this one is teaching us how to kill one another instead of what we may or may not need to know later in life. This is all we need to know, since our lives aren't going to be lasting much longer.

One day, when I can find nothing else to talk about, I tell Katniss about the different breads we are served. I point out how they managed to put in one from every district. They all look appetizing, but I don't eat any of them until I finish my explanation.

"And there you have it," I say, putting the rolls back in their basket.

"You certainly know a lot," she says.

"Only about bread," I respond. "Okay, now laugh as if I've said something funny."

We both laugh, though I'm sure that we're not fooling anyone. I don't give myself a chance to notice the stares I'm sure we're receiving.

Once we've finished our stupid act, I say, "All right, now I'll keep smiling pleasantly, and you talk."

"Did I ever tell you about the time I was chased by a bear?" she asks, trying way too hard to seem happy about speaking with me.

"No, but it sounds fascinating," I respond.

It's wearing me out to be so nice to a girl that so obviously hates me. Although, it's far more than that. I don't mind being kind to her, but knowing that she still despises me is what's tiring me. It's hard on your heart to be in love with someone who hates you.

During our second day of training, I'm attempting to skewer one of the targets at the other end of the room when I notice a small girl with dark skin and hair hiding behind a pillar watching us. I don't look at Katniss or the girl as I say softly, "I think we have a shadow."

I was hoping she wouldn't, but Katniss glances around, trying to find the girl. Once she does, I add, "I think her name's Rue."

I'm not sure how Katniss feels, but I think that girl looks like her sister. She even seems to act like her. They're both small and shy. They both look as though they've never once in their lives had enough to eat. But I suppose that doesn't matter. It's the smile on the girl's face that reminds me so much of Prim.

"What can we do about it?" she asks, her voice harsh.

I resist the urge to wince at her tone. "Nothing to do. Just making conversation."

Though we are nice to one another in public, I find myself being kind to Katniss in private as well. I find I truly can't help myself. I don't want her to hate me anymore, even though I know that's for the best. It's for this reason that when we are leaving the dining room one night after Haymitch was in a particularly bad mood, I say, "Someone ought to get Haymitch a drink."

Katniss lets out a snort. She begins to laugh, but stops almost instantly. I know she doesn't want to keep up this act when we're alone. This is only proved true when, she says, "Don't. Don't let's pretend when no one's around."

I sigh and respond, not bothering to hide my exhaustion, "All right, Katniss."

On our third and last day of training, we are called out from lunch for our private sessions. I don't want to, but I have to go in before Katniss. I don't want to do this at all. I'm not interested in showing a bunch of people that I don't like in the slightest what I can do with a few weights. I'm sure it won't even be that impressive to them anyhow.

When I'm heading in, Katniss surprises me by saying, "Remember what Haymitch said about being sure to throw the weights."

"Thanks I will," I say. "You…shoot straight."

My private session doesn't last long at all. The Gamemakers are drunk and uninterested in me. Some of them pay attention, but for the most part, I'm just throwing things around for my own pleasure. I nearly drop one of the weights on my toe. It's around this time that they dismiss me and I'm thankful for that. I don't want to have to stand in here trying to capture their attention any longer when it's clear they're not interested in me at all.

I go to the elevator at the other end of the room and head up to our floor. When I arrive, Haymitch and Effie are sitting in the living space. They ask me how it went and I shrug. I'm not going to tell them the truth. I'm sure that one of the two of them, if not both of them would find some way to blame me for how they acted. For whatever reason, Haymitch always blames us for being unable to do something that we really have no control over.

I head back to my room and lay on my bed, staring at the canopy. I wonder how much use my strength is going to be in the arena, especially right before I die.


	8. Scores & Secrets

Almost immediately after this thought runs through my mind, I hear voices calling Katniss' name. She doesn't answer them, so I'm assuming that she did something she wishes she hadn't. My suspicions are only confirmed when I hear her door slam shut. This is unlike the slamming I heard two mornings ago. She's not angry at anyone but herself.

Haymitch and Effie are banging on her door, trying to get her to come out of her room, but she doesn't leave. She shouts at them to go away and when I press my ear against the wall, I can hear her sobbing. Concern fills me instantly. Katniss doesn't cry for no reason. What happened that would make her so upset? I want to blame the Gamemakers, but I can tell from the way she's muttering into her pillow and choking on her tears that she believes so thoroughly that she's to blame, I couldn't possibly convince her or believe otherwise.

For the hour that she cries, I contemplate what exactly it is she could have done. The worst thing I come up with is her having killed one of the Gamemakers. I can't come up with a reason why she would have done this seeing as she is smarter than that, so I dismiss that thought immediately. The best thing she could have done is broken some of the equipment. However, that seems like such a ridiculous thing to cry over I dismiss this thought as well.

Normally, I would have left my room and headed for the dining room to wait for dinner, but for whatever reason I feel I shouldn't leave until Effie comes to get me. Still, when she does I practically bolt out of my room and down the hall. Cinna, Portia and Haymitch are already seated. I quickly fill a platter of food and sit down next to Haymitch as Katniss comes into the room. While the adults talk, I watch her get her own meal before sitting down across from me. When she looks up, I raise my eyebrow in question, but she only shakes her head slightly.

The main course is being served when Haymitch says, "Okay, enough small talk, just how bad were you today?"

"I don't know that it mattered," I respond. "By the time I showed up, no one even bothered to look at me. They were singing some kind of drinking song, I think. So, I threw around some heavy objects until they told me I could go."

I'm not entirely sure that they really were singing a drinking song. I wasn't really paying attention to what they were doing, but I only say this in an attempt to make Katniss feel better.

"And you, sweetheart?" Haymitch asks, turning to her.

For whatever reason, her gaze darkens. I know she thinks that her emotions are unreadable, but I've always been able to see right through her masks. It's for this reason that I know Haymitch's comment has upset her enough to allow her to say, sounding almost nonchalant, "I shot an arrow at the Gamemakers."

The table goes silent and all I can think is how my worst suspicions about what she did was killing one of them. Apparently, I wasn't too far off. And I'm not the only one who's in a state of shock. Everyone at the table has stopped eating and when Effie asks, "You what?" I know that what Katniss has done isn't a small pile of dust that can be swept under the rug.

"I shot an arrow at them. Not exactly at them. In their direction," she clarifies. "It's like Peeta said, I was shooting and they were ignoring me and I just…I just lost my head, so I shot an apple out of their stupid roast pig's mouth." The defiance in her tone is prominent.

"And what did they say?" Cinna asks tentatively.

"Nothing. Or I don't know, I walked out after that," she says.

"Without being dismissed?" Effie asks horrified.

"I dismissed myself." From the look on her face, I'm certain that despite the way she's acting she regrets what she's done. Of course she does. It was obvious from the moment that she returned from the gym. She wouldn't be crying for no reason.

"Well, that's that," Haymitch says. I can't tell what emotion he's trying to convey.

"Do you think they'll arrest me?" Katniss asks.

"Doubt it," he responds. "Be a pain to replace you at this stage."

"What about my family?" she asks, not even trying to hide the fear in her tone. "Will they punish them?"

"Don't think so," Haymitch says. "Wouldn't make much sense. See, they'd have to reveal what happened in the Training Center for it to have any worthwhile effect on the population. People would need to know what you did. But they can't since it's secret, so it'd be a waste of effort. More likely they'll make your life hell in the arena."

"Well, they've already promised to do that to us anyway," I say, glaring at my food.

"Very true," Haymitch replies. When I glance up I notice that the anger, fear and frustration have vanished from Katniss' face. In fact, I see something close to cheerfulness. She so rarely smiles or looks happy that seeing her like this makes me smile. Clearly, Haymitch sees something too because he asks, chuckling, "What were their faces like?"

She smiles slightly. "Shocked. Terrified. Uh, ridiculous, some of them." She pauses, then adds, her lips stretching even further across her face, adding to the beauty she's always possessed, "One man tripped backward into a bowl of punch."

Haymitch starts laughing and then everyone joins in. Except Effie, though I can tell it's an effort for her not to do so. "Well, it serves them right," she says, pulling us all up short at her comment. "It's their job to pay attention to you. And just because you're from District Twelve is no excuse to ignore you." She glances around the room, clearly worried that she's said something unacceptable. "I'm sorry, but that's what I think," she adds, probably to whomever is watching us right now.

"I'll get a very bad score," Katniss says.

"Scores only matter if they're very good," Portia responds, glancing towards Katniss for only a moment. "No one pays much attention to the bad or mediocre ones. For all they know, you could be hiding your talents to get a low score on purpose. People use that strategy."

"I hope that's how people interpret the four I'll probably get," I say. "If that. Really, is anything less impressive than watching a person pick up a heavy ball and throw it a couple of yards. One almost landed on my foot."

Katniss smiles at me. I quirk my lips up in response before turning back to my food. Despite what some people may think, I didn't say I was going to get a low score to be modest. I was being serious. Compared to what the Careers can do, throwing weights is nothing. Haymitch may have said that strength in the arena is not to be underestimated, but compared to several of the Careers, I'm not strong at all. Not only that I can't handle weapons like they can. Also they were in their sessions long before the Gamemakers got drunk and stopped caring.

Once we've finished eating, we head over to the sitting room to watch the announcement of our scores. The Careers get something between an eight and ten, while the others average out with a five. The girl that was shadowing us earlier gets a seven. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Katniss' eyes widen a fraction. She's surprised too.

Our district is last. Somehow, I manage to get an eight. I don't know why, but maybe I wasn't being ignored as much as I thought I was. Perhaps it was me who wasn't really paying attention. It wouldn't be the first time I'd completely missed out on what was going on around me. When I'm baking or decorating cakes, the rest of the world disappears.

Clearly I'm being far more selfish than usual because I don't notice that Katniss has gotten an eleven until I hear the cheering resonating throughout the living room. However, she's obviously confused because she asks Haymitch, "There must be a mistake. How…how could that happen?"

"Guess they liked your temper," he responds. "They've got a show to put on. They need some players with some heat."

"Katniss, the girl who was on fire," Cinna says, giving her a hug. "Oh, wait until you see your interview dress."

"More flames?" she asks.

"Of a sort," he says smirking.

When they're done conversing, I congratulate Katniss and she does the same for me. My praise is genuine, but I can't tell if hers is. In the end I decide it's not, seeing as she bolts out of the room almost immediately afterwards. I don't linger much longer. I bid everyone in the living room a quick goodnight before dashing down the hall to my own room.

As I undress and get into bed that evening, I can't help wondering what I've done to make her hate me. Perhaps she's just angry with me for telling her how good she was before our first day of training. Or maybe she's deliberately hating me so when she has to kill me it won't be as difficult for her to do. I've told myself over and over again that this is a good thing, that this is what I want, that it would be much better for her to dislike me, but it still hurts.

I barely get any sleep that night. When I wake up in the morning, I realize two things: one it's the day of our interviews and two…I have to tell Haymitch my strategy to keep Katniss alive. I know this will mean I have to be coached separately and I also know that this will result in more hatred from Katniss, but keeping her alive is more important.

I go to breakfast early so I have time to tell Haymitch my plan. It's clear that he's surprised to see me up at this hour and frankly I'm surprised to see him too. Effie is nowhere to be seen. I don't waste time asking Haymitch about her absence. I attribute this to her need to take hours to make herself look perfect for the day ahead.

There is food nearby, but I'm not hungry. I sit down next to Haymitch and say before he can ask me any questions. "I want to be coached separately today."

He seems very taken aback. "Why?"

I know that eventually I'm going to have to tell him the whole story, but that can wait until later. Right now all he needs to know are the important things, though, if I'm going to be honest, all of it is important. Everything has to be done just right or my plan won't work and if my plan doesn't work, despite her score, Katniss may not get any sponsors.

Taking a deep breath I say, "Because I'm trying to keep Katniss alive and I don't want her to know that's what I'm doing."

"You're…trying to protect her?" he asks. Honestly I thought my love for her was obvious, but apparently it's not. I've been trying to hide it for the past few days. I didn't think I was doing that good of a job, but maybe because it takes a lot to convince Katniss it didn't take that much to convince everyone else.

I nod. "Yes. I'm trying to protect her because I…" I stop short. The words that come to my mind are  _love her_ , but I don't know if Haymitch will be alright with this. In the end, I decide it doesn't really matter what he wants. Either way I'm going to die and there isn't a damn thing he can do about it. I grit my teeth and start again. "Because I love her. And I can't let her die."

Whatever I was expecting I get the exact opposite. Haymitch doesn't protest. He doesn't tell me that there is no possible way I can be in love with her. He doesn't try to explain that there is still a great possibility she won't survive even if I do everything in my power to save her. He simply sits back from his food and says, "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because I want to announce it during my interview," I say tracing circles on the table.

No sooner have I said this than Effie arrives. She sits down and Haymitch tells her what I just told him. She practically squeals and then asks exactly how I'm going to proclaim my love for her on live television. Haymitch says we'll figure that our during our coaching session today. He also tells me that there is good chance Katniss will think my feelings for her aren't real, which could potentially anger her. I tell him the same thing I've been telling myself for the past several days: her anger is nothing compared to her death. About halfway through our conversation, Effie goes to wake Katniss and when she returns we continue talking in whispers.

When she comes into the room, we're still whispering, but she doesn't comment. She gets some food and sits down. As she eats, we say nothing. Silently we make bets on how long it'll take for her to notice. I think Haymitch's is the closest because after about fifteen minutes, she finally says, "So, what's going on? You're coaching us on interviews today, right?"

"That's right," Haymitch replies.

"You don't have to wait until I'm done. I can listen and eat at the same time," she says.

"Well, there's been a change of plans," he says. I wonder if I'm the only one who notices the careful way he's phrasing his sentences. "About our current approach."

"What's that?" she asks. Clearly she suspects nothing and I almost feel sorry for what I'm doing for that reason. However, I remind myself, yet again, that it doesn't matter how she feels. Nothing matters except keeping her alive. And this, I've decided is the only way outside of the arena that I can assure this.

Haymitch shrugs. I swallow, wondering what her reaction will be when he tells her, "Peeta has asked to be coached separately."


	9. The Interviews

There is a mixture of emotions on Katniss' face. The first I see is anger, though it could almost be mistaken for betrayal. I remind myself that this couldn't be possible. She hates me, she wants nothing to do with me and even if she did at one point, I've taken that away now. Albeit if things go as planned I'll b giving it back later, but for now this is best. The next emotion is confusion, which is much more explainable and understandable than the first, and finally relief. I'm sure how to take that, but I assume that she was sick of pretending to be friends with me. Frankly, I was too. It takes too much out of the both of us.

"Good," she says, sounding very pleased. "So what's the schedule?"

"You'll each have four hours with Effie for presentation and four with me for content," Haymitch responds. "Katniss, you start with Effie."

I can't express enough how grateful I am that I'll be starting with Haymitch. I know that I'm going to have to do more than confess my love for Katniss. That alone won't be enough and even then my plan might not work. Especially if she gets angry on camera. I'm hoping she can save that for after the interviews. Everything will blow up in my face otherwise.

"So how do you want to go about this?" Haymitch asks once Katniss and Effie have gone back to Katniss' room. We're sitting in the living room. It's clear that neither of us really know what else to add into my interview save for my confession. I lick my lips nervously and try to come up with some sort of solution, but nothing comes to mind. Finally, Haymitch says, "We need to make you likeable first."

I look up. Likeable? What does he mean? Will the audience automatically dislike me when I go to my place on stage? Or do I simply have to make their love for me stronger by acting as though I'm the kind of guy any girl would want? The minute this thought runs through my mind, I know that's exactly what I have to do, so I nod.

"You can be charming, right?" Haymitch asks.

I shrug. "I guess so, but that doesn't really matter. What am I going to talk about and how am I going to answer questions without giving away my secret immediately? That's basically what this is all riding on."

"Let me ask you a question," Haymitch says, cutting me off. "Do you really love her?"

"Yes," I say without hesitation. I don't have to think about that answer at all.

"You know she won't believe it," he tells me. "She's going to think that it's all part of the strategy to win in the Games. She has no idea you're trying to protect her and I don't know if that's a good thing."

"It is," I say. "If she knew, she'd hate me even more."

"It's not that she hates you," he responds. "It's just that she doesn't like being humbled."

"And how have I humbled her?" I ask, thoroughly confused.

"By telling her how good she is at archery and by saying that her talents are far superior to yours," he explains. "That's why she felt the need to say you were strong too."

I never once thought that could be considered humbling, but when Haymitch puts it that way, I know he's right. She's been angry with me ever since then. The thing is, I didn't mean to do that. I only meant to show her that she has a far better chance at staying alive than I do and she should try harder than I'm going to.

"If you ever tell her the truth or suggest it in any way before or during the Games, she's not going to believe you," Haymitch says, ending my contemplative thoughts. "She'll take a lot of convincing. Even then she might not really believe you. She knows that you're a good liar and she could think you're just manipulating the audience."

I nod. I don't want to think that if I do tell Katniss that she'll think of me as some sort of manipulative liar, but, just as it doesn't matter what Haymitch thinks, it doesn't matter what she thinks either. I'm going to be dead soon and her survival is truly all that matters. If she dies in the arena, it'll be my fault no matter what. Her feelings towards me are nothing. If she accepts that I love her, then so be it. Maybe, when the time comes, I'll just have to kill myself.

We talk about what exactly I'm going to say and how I'm going to say it. I'm to be humorous, charming and upsetting all at the same time. I'm not to declare my love for Katniss until the end of my interview and before that I'm supposed to be nothing but happy. Even if I don't like it, I know I'm a good liar and this is going to be to my advantage both during my interview and in the arena. I'm just hoping I can lie in such a way that I'll save Katniss. I already have a vague idea of what I'm going to do at the Cornucopia, but the big question is will it work?

After our four hours are up, I leave the living room and head to my room for my presentation session with Effie. She seems quite aggravated and I'm assuming that Katniss wasn't following her instructions. I know it's in Katniss' nature to rebel and do as she pleases, but sometimes I wish she could just let people tell her what to do without getting angry. However, I also know that she hates the people of the Capitol just as much as I do and can't stop herself from showing it.

Whatever happened between her and Haymitch must have really upset her because not only does she eat dinner in her room, but I can hear her smashing plates against the walls long after I've retired to my room for the evening. She shouts at someone. I don't hear anything but whispers from the room next to mine after that. I want to know what has happened and a part of me is sure that she needs comforting, but whomever she was yelling at must have helped her because I hear a door close and footsteps shuffling down the hallway. I think they're moving away from me until my door opens and I see the redheaded Avox girl.

I'm startled to say the least. I hadn't thought she would come into my room, but perhaps she was told to clean my bathroom, straighten my sheets, fold my clothes. I wish she wouldn't, but I know that she could get in trouble if she doesn't, even if I ask her not to. However, she does none of this, she simply comes over to me and looks at me in a sad way. Then she taps the side of her head with her index finger before placing her hand gently over her heart as she gestures with her other hand towards Katniss' room.

For a moment, I'm confused, then I realize what she's saying: she knows I love Katniss. When she sees understanding coming into my expression, she then points to me and taps the skin on her cheek just beneath her eye. She could see it is what she's saying now. I wonder how she could have seen what so many people missed. I'm opening my mouth to ask her this when I realize that she's probably doing something she shouldn't be.

"Aren't you going to get in trouble?" I ask, my voice slightly louder than normal. I don't know if we're being watched, but if we are, I'd like those in charge to know that she hasn't done anything wrong. I don't know if this will help, but it couldn't hurt to try.

She doesn't respond.

There is a short span of silence between us before I finally say, "Did you help her?"

She nods. I smile. "Thank you."

As if in an attempt to make up for doing something she shouldn't have, she takes my clothes that were lying on the floor and places them on my bed, while she cleans my shower. When she's finished, she folds back my blankets before taking my dirty clothes and leaving the room. I don't understand why she wanted to tell me that. In fact, I don't understand why she did when she knew she would probably get in trouble. I guess I can't ask her now and I don't think I'll ever be able to.

In the morning, it's Ambrose, Lamia and Quinlan that get me up. It's clear that there are no more coaching sessions with Haymitch or Effie anymore, so I allow myself to be led from my room to the space where they're going to attempt to make me look presentable. That's going to be a hard thing for them to accomplish. The only way I've ever looked presentable is with my hair slicked back. Even then, I don't really look nice. It doesn't matter what I wear.

There isn't much for the prep team to do. They barely put any makeup on me. I almost laugh when they do actually use gel on my hair, moving it back, away from my face. They don't even have time to make their typical comments before they leave the room and Portia enters, my outfit slung over her arm. She helps me into the black button up shirt, and the nice shoes. Then she adds the jacket and I give a slight smile when I see the flame accents on the collar and around the buttons. She smiles when I do.

"Do you know what you're going to say during the interview?" she asks, straightening out my clothes.

"Yes," I respond instantly.

"And?" she asks.

"I'm going to tell Katniss I love her," I say. I don't hesitate this time. It's not going to be a secret for much longer anyhow.

Portia freezes for a moment. "And how are you going to do that?"

"I'm not going to tell her specifically, I'm going to tell the audience," I clarify.

"Do you really love her? Or is this just for publicity?" From the way she phrases it, I can tell that saying what I'm doing has more to do with the latter than the former, would not keep me in her good graces.

But I'm not lying when I say, "I do really love her. I'm trying to keep her alive in the arena and I think by telling the audience how much I care for her she'll get more sponsors and have a better chance of surviving the Games."

Portia nods saying in a soft voice, "I didn't really think you were doing this for publicity. It's kind of obvious how much you love her."

Another person that has seen through my mask? Either Haymitch and Effie are not observant or they aren't as smart as Portia and the redheaded Avox girl. Unlike when she told me, I don't comment when Portia does. I just stare into the mirror and look at myself. I don't look too bad actually. I could almost look good if I didn't hate myself so much. I wonder if that's the reason I have a sort of self-deprecating humor.

We meet Cinna, Katniss and her prep team at the elevator. I can't stop myself from letting out a small gasp of amazement at how beautiful she looks. She doesn't notice, which is a good thing. She can't know my feels too soon. She'll know them before the night is over though. As the elevator opens, we are led from it to the stage where our interviews will be conducted. There is a row of chairs for those of us who are not being interviewed and then one next to Caesar Flickerman, the interviewer, which is where we will sit when he is questioning us.

I'm just wondering if my nerves are going to show when it's my turn when Haymitch comes up behind us and hisses, "Remember, you're still a happy pair. So act like it."

Katniss doesn't know what that means, but I do.

The interviews go by too quickly. I don't pay attention to any of them except Katniss'. She gets up onstage and immediately I'm anxious. She doesn't look confident at all. However, when she starts speaking, that changes. She turns into someone that I don't know. She reminds me of that happy girl on the chariot, but I don't like it any more now than I did then. She isn't being herself and just as her interview is finishing, I'm wondering if she'll ever be allowed to act like herself again.

I play my interview exactly as Haymitch told me to. I'm charming, likable. The audience clearly loves me, which gives me courage to do something utterly ridiculous that involves Caesar and I sniffing each other for several seconds. I can hear the audience laughing and I know that my plan is working. Sort of. I just have to go in for the big finish. I don't know how I'm going to do it, but I'm given the perfect opportunity when Caesar asks if I have a girlfriend back home.

I hesitate, then shake my head quickly, hoping it's more convincing than I feel it is.

"Handsome lad like you?" Caesar says, sounding genuinely surprised. "There must be some special girl. Come on, what's her name?"

I sigh. "Well, there is one girl. I've had a crush on her ever since I can remember. But I'm pretty sure she didn't know I was alive until the reaping."

Like I hoped, the crowd makes small, sympathetic sounds. It's a wonder that even in the Capitol that don't get everything they wish for. Though I suppose that love isn't something you can control as completely as everything else.

"She have another fellow?" Caesar asks.

"I don't know, but a lot of boys like her," I say.

"So here's what you do. You win, you go home. She can't turn you down then, eh?" The sad thing is, Caesar actually sounds like he wants this to happen, he actually wants me to be happy, but I can't be happy because I'm going into the arena tomorrow and then in a matter of days I'm going to die.

I'm sure this shows on my face when I say, "I don't think it's going to work out. Winning…won't help in my case."

"Why ever not?" he asks, his tone full of confusion.

I take a deep breath. This is the moment. The moment that will determine if Katniss is going to live or die. If she'll get sponsors that can save her or none at all. I have to do this right. It's not that it's a lie. It's the complete truth. But I've learned that in the Capitol it's not about that, it's all about presentation.

I feel myself turning red and I try to keep my voice even at least mostly even as I say, "Because…because…she came here with me."


	10. The Roof & The Arena

There is a moment of silence as what I say sinks in. I catch a glance on the screens projecting my image all across Panem and, instead, find Katniss' face. She's staring at her shoes, shocked. There is a faint blush on her cheeks. Where some might think this means she loves me in return, I know better.

"Oh, that is a piece of bad luck," Caesar says. The pain in his voice is genuine. I can't say as much for the crowd. They seem to be truly upset – what with their agonized cries and such – but I highly doubt that one boy's tragic love could bring any true heartfelt emotions out of them.

"It's not good," I agree. Because it isn't. It really isn't. The arena is nothing more than a death trap, one she could very well die in before I can do anything.

"Well, I don't think any of us can blame you. It'd be hard not to fall for that young lady," Caesar responds. "She didn't know."

I shake my head. "Not until now."

I'm not acting at all. Every word I say is the truth, but I can already tell that Katniss doesn't believe me. She thinks I'm doing this for the crowd, playing by their standards. I can see why she would think that, considering all Haymitch has told us, but I'm not lying. Not at all.

"Wouldn't you love to pull her back out here and get a response?" Caesar says to the audience. While the crowd sounds thrilled at the idea, I really hope that he tells them that can't happen and he doesn't disappoint. "Sadly, rules are rules, and Katniss Everdeen's time has been spent. Well, best of luck to you, Peeta Mellark, and I think I speak for all of Panem when I say out hearts go with yours."

The crowd cheers and I have to wait several moments before I'm able to say, thank you, my voice truly trembling now. I stand in front of my seat for the Panem anthem and it's hard not to notice the shots of Katniss and me on every screen. I want to smile because I know phase one of my plan is working. However, if I do, people might suspect my love isn't genuine. Smiling when you know that you and the girl of your dreams are on the chopping block is frowned upon.

The anthem finishes and we all head back into the Training Center. I allow myself to be pushed into one car and wait for the others to get off before I press my thumb against the button with the 12 in the center. I'm getting out of the elevator just as Katniss is and before I can do anything she slams her palms against my chest. Taken completely aback as well as being completely unprepared for the assault, I stagger backwards and fall into an urn with a few fake flowers sticking out of it. The urn falls and shatters into thousands of tiny pieces. Unfortunately, I land in the shards and they cut open my hands instantly.

"What was that for?" I say, shocked.

"You had no right! No right to go saying those things about me!" she shouts.

As the elevator doors open again, revealing Effie, Haymitch, Portia and Cinna, I can't help thinking that I should have expected this reaction. I humbled her yet again and this time it was in front of the entire country. No wonder she's angry.

"What's going on?" Effie asks, sounding frantic. "Did you fall?"

"After she shoved me," I say allowing Effie and Cinna to help me to my feet.

"Shoved him?" Haymitch turns to her.

"This was your idea, wasn't it? Turning me into some kind of fool in front of the entire country?" she shouts at him.

"It was my idea," I say, wincing as I pull pieces of the urn from my bloody palms. "Haymitch just helped me with it."

"Yes, Haymitch is very helpful. To you!" she says.

"You  _are_  a fool," Haymitch responds, sounding truly angry. "Do you think he hurt you? That boy just gave you something you could never achieve on your own."

While everyone else may not know exactly why he's so frustrated, I can tell from the edge in his voice that he's upset with Katniss because she is taking my love and throwing it back in my face. He's forgetting that she doesn't know what I said was the truth. She's still living in the realm of me doing things to please the crowd. I wonder what Portia and Effie are thinking. Besides Haymitch, they're the only ones who know my ruse isn't that at all.

"He made me look weak!" Katniss says, confirming my suspicions.

"He made you look desirable! And let's face it, you can use all the help you can get in that department. You were about as romantic as dirt until he said he wanted you. Now they all do. You're all they're talking about. The star-crossed lovers from District Twelve!" Haymitch shouts. I'm starting to think he's taking this too far.

"But we're not star-crossed lovers!" she responds.

Haymitch grabs her shoulders and pins her against the wall. If it was unclear to anyone in the room that I loved Katniss before, it's clear when I have to restrain myself from taking more than a small step towards them to try and pry Haymitch off of her. I notice Portia glancing at me. She gives a small shake of her head and I freeze in place, listening as Haymitch growls, "Who cares? It's all a big show. It's all how you're perceived. The most I could say about you after your interview was that you were nice enough, although that in itself was a small miracle. Now I can say you're a heartbreaker. Oh, oh, oh, how the boys back at home fall longingly at your feet. Which do you think will get you more sponsors?"

Unable to resist any longer, I'm about to tear Haymitch away from her when she pushes him off herself, taking several steps back. I allow myself to breathe normally again.

In what is clearly an attempt to comfort her, Cinna puts an arm around her shoulders and says, "He's right, Katniss."

"I should have been told, so I didn't look stupid," she mutters.

"No, your reaction was perfect. If you had been told it wouldn't have read as real," Portia tells her and for whatever reason it upsets me that she's trying to help her. I should be grateful for what she's doing, but I feel as though I'm the only one who can really protect her and I'm the only one who really should protect her.

"She's just worried about her boyfriend," I grumble, pulling another piece of pottery out of my hand. I glare at the floor just beneath Katniss' feet. Suddenly, I'm angry at her too. She should be thanking me, but instead she's angry.

"I don't have a boyfriend," she says, glaring.

"Whatever," I say. "But I bet he's smart enough to know a bluff when he sees it. Besides  _you_  didn't say you loved  _me_. So what does it matter?"

I have to remind myself that she didn't know what I was going to do or say. In that regard, she has some right to be angry, but I hope in the end that she'll just try to play this to her advantage. I also tell myself that it's a good thing Portia is helping me and Haymitch is getting ridiculously upset with her. With Portia's words, Katniss can be assured that she is doing this right and with Haymitch's reaction she will know how she can correctly act in the future.

"After he said he loved me, did you think I could have been in love with him too?" Katniss asks, tearing me out of my thoughts.

"I did," says Portia. "The way you avoided looking at the cameras, the blush."

Everyone else agrees. I say nothing.

"You're golden, sweetheart. You're going to have sponsors lined up around the block," Haymitch tells her. I hold back a smile, even though I'm sure he's saying this for my benefit.

Now, Katniss seems upset with herself more than anyone else. She glances at me and says, "I'm sorry I shoved you."

"Doesn't matter," I respond, shrugging. "Although it's technically illegal."

"Are your hands okay?" she asks.

"They'll be all right," I say.

We head off to dinner after that with Haymitch telling us, "Come on, let's eat." We all sit down at the table and begin our dinner, but not even halfway through, I realize that my hands are bleeding too heavily and I'm even beginning to feel lightheaded. Noticing how pale my face has grown Portia takes me to the lobby of the Training Center for medical treatment.

"You know she isn't really in love with me," I tell Portia as she wraps my hands in gauze.

She says nothing.

"Even if she was convincing on camera, I know that she doesn't really," I add.

She shrugs as she finishes securing the bandages on my hands. I don't know why she isn't talking to me, but I don't say anything else as we go back up to our floor. They're nearly done with dinner when we get back and I can tell by the way she won't look at me that Katniss feels bad about what she did.

When we finish eating we watch the replay of our interviews. Though she's beautiful, I still feel as if the girl on stage, twirling in her fiery outfit is not Katniss Everdeen. I even feel as though the boy in the black suit, smiling and laughing with Caesar is someone foreign. I know we've done a good job and I also know that Haymitch was right when he said that Katniss will have more sponsors than he knows what to do with. I blame myself, but I know that without Cinna's help, this wouldn't have worked as well.

All too soon the anthem finishes playing and the room falls silent. Tomorrow morning I'll be taken from my room and prepared for the arena. If I said I wasn't I would be lying, but I am. I'm very scared. Both for myself and Katniss. I've never found my life all that significant, but thinking that there's a chance I could be dead before noon tomorrow still sends a shiver of fear through me.

I'm not entirely sure if it's a good thing or a bad thing that Haymitch and Effie will be headed to the Game Headquarters, while Katniss and I will be headed to the arena. They'll be getting the both of us sponsors, while we're flying away to our deaths. Cinna and Portia will be allowed to travel with us to the place where we will be launched into the arena. I'm thankful for that. Even though I pretend to be brave, I don't think I could keep it together without someone there to stop me from falling apart.

Effie takes both mine and Katniss' hands in hers and, trying to hold back tears, gives us what I suppose are supposed to be comforting words. She also tells us we're the best tributes she's ever been given, which makes me slightly happy until she adds, "I wouldn't be at all surprised if I get promoted to a decent district next year!"

This sours the kisses she places on our cheeks and the moment she hurries out of the room, I'm scrubbing my face with my fingers, trying to wash it away.

Haymitch takes over my attention after that, crossing his arms in front of his chest to glare down at the both of us. I feel as though he's studying us, assessing our strengths and weaknesses with his eyes for the last time. I'm sure he knows this could be the last time he sees either of us. I know he's not an emotional man and this is the closest he will get to crying.

"Any final words of advice?" I ask.

"When the gong sounds, get the hell out of there. You're neither of you up to the blood bath at the Cornucopia. Just clear out, put as much distance as you can between yourselves and the others, and find a source of water," he says. "Got it?"

"And after that?" Katniss adds.

"Stay alive," Haymitch responds. We both know this is the same advice he gave us that first day on the train, but this time it means something. He's not drunk. He's not tripping over his own feet. He knows what he's saying and this time he means it. He wants us to live.

Katniss turns and heads to her room after that, but I stay back. I have to talk to Portia. I want to ask her why she wasn't talking to me while bandaging my hands. As if sensing we need time alone, Haymitch and Cinna clear out, bidding us both good night. Portia doesn't leave. She only crosses her arms as Haymitch did earlier and looks at me expectantly.

"Why didn't you talk to me when we were downstairs?" I ask.

"Because I didn't agree with what you were saying," she replies.

That was the last thing I was expecting her to say. I can't stop the look of confusion that crosses my features as I say, "What do you mean?"

She shrugs. "Maybe she does love you back. You don't really know for sure."

"I do know actually. If she cared for me too, don't you think she wouldn't have gotten mad at me when we got back up here? She might have been glad to know," I say.

"Maybe she was just angry at you for telling the whole world that you love her," Portia retorts and as much as I know that this isn't true, I also know that there is a slight possibility that it could be. I could just be seeing what I've thought was the truth all this time. Still, I shake my head because I can't allow myself to hope for that. Especially since tomorrow we're going into the arena and one of the two of us is going to die. I don't want to think that maybe we had a chance to be together and then remember now that will never happen.

Frustrated over what Portia told me, I don't go to my room. Instead, I head to the roof. I leave the door open because I'm both too angry and too lazy to close it. Even if I was in a good mood, I know I still wouldn't be able to go to my room and sleep. There's too much running through my mind. Again, I run through scenarios that involve me saving Katniss' life and either dying in the process or surviving for a little longer. By the time I've been up there for an hour, I actually have a pretty solid plan in place for what I'm going to do when the gong sounds tomorrow morning.

I'm thinking of trying to head back down to my room when another thought pops into my mind, one that I never considered until now: what if I turn into something I'm not? The Games will change everyone. Not just those of us that are in this year's competition, but in next year's and the year after. Everyone who comes out of there alive will be changed. But what if I'm changed for the worse? There have been people who go into the Games and, even if they don't survive, they're something completely different by the time they do die. What if I turn into some animal that kills for pleasure? That's what scares me. What if I  _enjoy_  killing? What if I enjoy taking the life of someone I don't know and laugh when I realize how his family is going to cry over his dead body when it's returned to them? I can't let that happen. I don't want that to happen. I don't know what I'll do if it does. Probably kill myself. I can't protect Katniss if I'm not myself anyway.

"You should be getting some sleep."

I start, but I don't turn. "I didn't want to miss the party," I respond. "It's for us after all." Katniss followed me up here. Well, she didn't really. I wonder how long I've been on the roof. Apparently a while because when she comes into my line of sigh, I see that she's in a fleece nightgown. Even in that she looks lovely.

She leans over the railing, watching the people below dancing through the streets. "Are they in costumes?" she asks.

I glance at the ground below. "Who could tell?" I respond. "With all the crazy clothes they wear here. Couldn't sleep, either?"

"Couldn't turn my mind off," she says.

"Thinking about your family?" I ask.

I'm surprised when she says, "No. All I can do is wonder about tomorrow. Which is pointless, of course." I'm still staring at the ground when she turns towards me. I don't move, but I can tell she's studying my face in the dim lighting that reaches us from the streets. Her eyes flicker down to my bandaged hands I'm holding awkwardly at my sides. Do anything else hurts them. "I really am sorry about your hands," she adds.

"It doesn't matter, Katniss," I say, clenching them slightly. The pain actually feels good and maybe it's this that makes me add, "I've never been a contender in these Games anyway."

"That's no way to be thinking," she responds.

"Why not? It's true. My best hope is to not disgrace myself and…" I stop. I don't know if I can phrase what I've been thinking correctly.

"And what?" she asks.

"I don't know how to say it exactly," I warn. "Only…I want to die as myself. Does that make any sense?" I glance towards her. She shakes her head. "I don't want them to change me in there," I add to clarify. "Turn me into some monster that I'm not."

There's a silence and I don't think I've made sense at all when she asks, "Do you mean you won't kill anyone?"

 _If only that were true._  "No, when the time comes, I'm sure I'll kill just like everybody else. I can't go down without a fight. Only I keep wishing I could think of a way to…to show the Capitol they don't own me. That I'm more than just a piece in their Games." The last bit I had't realized until just now, but this is almost as important to me as keeping Katniss alive and staying true to myself.

"But you're not," she says. "None of us are. That's how the Games work."

"Okay, but within that framework, there's still you, there's still me," I say in an attempt to explain. "Don't you see?"

"A little. Only…no offense, but who cares Peeta?" she says.

That stings. My nails dig into my injured palms and I can feel my wounds reopening. "I do. I mean, what else am I allowed to care about at this point?" I turn to her, locking my eyes with hers, waiting for her to respond.

She steps back. "Care about what Haymitch said. About staying alive."

I smile at her. "Okay. Thanks for the tip, sweetheart," I say. I'm trying to mock her, but I know that my sadness seeps through and layers itself on top of my frustration.

As much as her last comment hurt me, I can tell that this hurts her. However, I don't feel bad. Frankly, I feel like she deserved it. Everything isn't just about her.  _But it is,_ a voice whispers.  _Everything you're doing is about her._  I ignore it. I can deal with my inner hypocrisy when I have the time.

"Look, if you want to spend the last hours of your life planning some noble death in the arena, that's your choice," she hisses. "I want to spend mine in District Twelve."

"Wouldn't surprise me if you do," I respond, my anger dripping through my words now. "Give my mother my best when you make it back, will you?"

"Count on it," she responds as she turns and leaves me alone.

The tears I've been holding back since she left begin to flow down my face and without warning I slump to the ground. I'm on my hands and knees, sobbing silently, clutching the edge of the building. I don't know why I'm crying, but as my tears darken the bricks beneath me, I realize it's because she acted as though the damage my mother has done to me is nothing. I'm sure that I'm taking this much too far, but the tears don't stop. All I can think about is her smirking as my mother beats me. It's a foolish image. It's a stupid one. I shouldn't have it in my mind because it'll never happen, but my mind tortures me. It comes up with horrid things when I am upset. The majority of the time, it's true terrors, things that I should be afraid of, but every once in a while when I can't hold back the sobs that wrack my body, images of the unthinkable, the unimaginable enter my consciousness. That's when I lock myself in a room, curl myself into a ball, making my nails cut up my palms until the images go away.

But I can't do that right now. I can't do that ever again. I have to find the strength to ignore these thoughts. In fact, right now I should leave the roof and go to bed. I want to stay up here, sleep up here with the wind ruffling my hair, but, in the long run, that doesn't sound like that good of an idea.

I manage to get a couple hours of sleep before Portia wakes me. She hands me a simple outfit that reminds me of the one I wore during the opening ceremony. That seems like such a long time ago now. Once I'm dressed, she takes me to the roof and goes onto the hovercraft with me. There is some sort of electrical current that freezes me to the ladder. I'm kept there for a moment more while a woman sticks a syringe in my arm to place the device that will keep track of me whilst I'm in the arena.

We're led to a room where there's breakfast and comfortable chairs to sit in, but I can't sit or eat. The food actually makes my stomach turn. I know I should eat. I don't know when I'm going to get food again. I actually may never eat again, but every time I near the table during my pacing around the small room, I have to look away to keep myself from vomiting.

I'm so absorbed in my own thoughts of how all my planning could go awry that I don't even notice the windows blacking out signaling how close we are to the arena. It's only when Portia stands and wraps me in a hug that I realize I've been trembling. I want to push her away because I feel as though any comfort is going to distract me and have me longing for more when I get into the arena. However, I realize that I've craved this all my life. I've only ever wanted to be held and cared for by my mother. I suppose Portia is the closest thing I'll ever have to a mother and it's for this reason I hold her even more tightly when the hovercraft lands.

The ladder drops down, leading us through a small tube into my Launch Room. There are still a couple of hours before the Games actually begin, but I still don't eat. I still don't sit down. And when Portia suggests I take a shower, I shake my head quickly. That would be another comfort that I would long for. I can't long for anything. Not anymore.

Shortly after this, my clothes arrive. All I have are some underclothes, a green t-shirt, and a black jacket that Portia tells me will reflect my body heat. I nod. I'm sure the Gamemakers will make our nights cold. They wouldn't allow them to be warm. That would be ludicrous. Things would be too easy for us otherwise. Easiness is not something that exists in the arena.

I'm given a pair of leather boots not unlike the ones I wore during training. Once I feel I'm ready to enter the arena, I stand in front of Portia, my hands clasped behind my back, my entire body shaking. I try to keep it still, but I can't. She comes over to me and places one of her hands on my shoulders. The other hand is closed. When she opens it, I see the item that I chose to bring from District 12 to the arena: a necklace with a bird on the end. It's only now that I realize it's a lot like the Mockingjay pin that Katniss has. This is just coincidence, but Portia can tell I'm happy about the similarity our items have.

She fastens it around my neck and leads me over to the launch pad as a voice tells us it's nearly time to go. She places both of her hands on my shoulders this time and says, "I know you're trying to keep her alive, but to do that you have to live too. If she dies, you have to win for her. You know that right?"

I nod. I hadn't much considered that possibility, mostly because it made my chest ache. The thought of losing Katniss is a painful one. Still, Portia is right. If Katniss dies, I have to win for her. I can't let her die in vain. I have to do everything in my power to keep her memory alive and I know the only way I can do that is by winning. I wouldn't want to go back to District 12 without her, but I'd have to. I'd have to be strong and I know that if I was thinking that this was all for her, to keep a small part of her alive in some way, I know I would do it.

Portia steps away as the glass cylinder lowers around me. Her face is the last thing I see before the cylinder begins to lift me away and cuts me off from all vision in darkness. I'm surrounded by it for a total of fifteen seconds and when I see light once more I'm in the arena. My final place of living.

I take a deep breath, allowing the fresh air to fill my lungs as Claudius Templesmith, the announcer says in his big booming voice, "Ladies and gentlemen, let the seventy-fourth Hunger Games begin!"


	11. The Plan at the Cornucopia

We are required to stay on our platforms for sixty seconds. Get off any sooner than that and we'll be turned into a human firework. Like everyone else, I take this time to take in my opponents. The Career tributes all look excited, ready for this. The others look either terrified or determined to at least live through the day. I wonder if I will. I glance towards the golden, metal Cornucopia forty yards away. It's filled with things that could help me survive out here, but I'm not going to get any of it. My eyes shift from the supplies that could keep me alive for weeks to the things that could keep me alive for a couple of days.

To my right there is a lake. A water source. Perhaps the only one in the arena. This worries me instantly. Then I remember that the Gamemakers don't want their show to be over in matter of days. More likely than not there's water in the woods off to my left. They look sparse, but you'd be safer in there than out in the open.

Katniss is glancing in that direction and I know she's thinking the same thing I am: Haymitch would want us to go there. Forget about the Cornucopia. Forget about any of the supplies we could attain. Get out of the way of the other tributes and survive. Easier said than done. I would be lying if I said that it isn't tempting to run to the golden horn and take everything I can carry before clearing out. However, by that time the other tributes would have reached me and without the learned use of a decent weapon, I would be dead within seconds.

I'm about to turn my eyes away from the spoils ahead of me when I notice something else: a silver bow with a matching quiver of arrows sitting atop a pile of blankets. Fear fills me and I whip my head around in Katniss' direction. Sure enough she's staring at the bow longingly. In fact, I can tell that she's going to run after it. She's going over it in her head. She is thinking of how to get that bow. She can't go after it. I can't let her.

She can run fast. I've seen her at school. She is the fastest girl in our grade. She can outrun almost anyone and, though I'm sure this comes from hunting in the woods, it's animals she'd be going after, animals that have no manmade weapons. She'd already be armed to the teeth as well. But out here she's competing with another twenty-three intelligent minds and there's probably someone in the arena that is much faster than she is.

Just as she's positioning herself to run towards the Cornucopia, she glances over at me. The sun is in her eyes, but I hope she can see me shaking my head and I also hope that if she does, she doesn't go and get herself killed immediately. It would be so hard for me to continue on if she died on the first day. I told Portia that I would win for Katniss if she dies, but coming face to face with that possibility, I don't know if that's an actual possibility.

I'm grateful that the gong rings out while she's still trying to decipher what I was doing. I can tell by the look in her eyes as I begin sprinting forward that she knows she's missed her chance. Everyone is several yards in now. The Careers have reached the Cornucopia. Haymitch told me not to head in their direction, but I do it anyway. I know from the looks in the other tributes eyes that everyone wants to take Katniss down now. She got an eleven in training and they'd rather not find out why.

When I reach the golden horn, I glance back and see Katniss struggling with the boy from District 9 for an orange backpack not too far away. I know I should be watching my own back, but I am breathing too heavily and I'm more worried about her right now. It's then that I notice the girl from District 2, the one that is so handy with knives throw one in the boy's back. He coughs blood onto Katniss face. For a moment, a look of disgust crosses her face, but in the next moment she realizes that this girl could kill her without a second thought. I let out a breath of relief when she runs towards the woods, having the good sense to hike the backpack up over her head so the girl's next knife makes the pack her victim instead of Katniss.

I'm just turning back around to try and scrounge up a few things when someone's fist connects with my jaw. I spin and fall to the ground. This doesn't faze me in the slightest. I'm used to being hit. That's not an advantage that many of the others have. Smirking, I push myself to my feet and grab a knife that is sitting atop a crate full of food. I'm not good with most weapons, but I'm okay with a knife. I can defend myself against this guy.

Within ten seconds of forming this though, I'm proven wrong when he punches me again, his own knife digging into my arm. This time when I push myself up, I'm wiping blood from my lip and glaring. I don't want to kill anyone, but I can injure them to keep them away from me. I rush at the boy – I think he's from District 6 – but just as I stick my knife in his side, he topples to the ground. I pull my knife away and find the boy from District 2 holding a sword and smirking at me. Instantly, I know I'm his next target. Fear freezes me in place. I clench my fingers around my knife and swallow my emotions. It's a long shot that I'll be able to defend myself against him and if I do fight him there's a very good chance that my plan won't work anyway. There's also a good chance that he'll kill me if I attempt to put my plan into action, but I have to try anyhow.

Sliding the knife into my belt, I straighten from my fighting stance and say, "Wouldn't it be better to be alliances now and get back to killing each other later?"

He's surprised by my approach. It's clear he didn't expect this. His moment of hesitation gives me a chance to take several steps back in case I have to run. When he does answer, he lowers his sword and hisses, "What use do I have for you, Lover Boy? There isn't anything useful you can do besides paint yourself."

I scoff and cross my arms over my chest. I have to act like them to be an ally of theirs. "You must be really stupid. Yes, I can  _paint_  myself as you said, but you know what that means? I can also spot others who have painted themselves. You're going to want to take down some people tonight, aren't you? And there will be some stupid ones, but you're not going to be able to get all of them. There are some who can blend in like I can and without me you won't be able to see them. Plus," I take out my knife and switch it between my hands, trying to seem better than I actually am, "I know how to use this. I can be your lookout."

"I don't need a look out," he growls.

"Yes you do," I respond. "If you're absorbed in trying to end one person's life, there could be someone coming up behind you. You probably won't see them or hear them. But I'll be standing behind you so I will."

I can't tell if this guy is smart or not, but he mustn't be because when the girl from District 2 jumps on top of me, a knife to my throat, he says, "No. He's going to help us."

The girl doesn't move. She glares and responds, "You really want Lover Boy to come with us?" So they've been planning an alliance from the beginning. Interesting. Can't say I'm all that surprised. The Careers tend to make alliances. It's only when all the other tributes are dead that they finally begin turning on each other.

I'm grateful when the boy nods and says, "Clove get off." She was crushing my leg. I don't think it's broken, in fact I know it's not, but I can tell that I'm going to have a hard time walking around without a limp for a while. As I stand, I take a moment to glance back out at the field around the Cornucopia. There is still fighting going on, but it's clear that anyone who is not a Career is either gone or is going to die.

While the boy and the girl, Clove, argue over whether I should be allowed to live or not, I walk out of the Cornucopia and lean against the side. This way if I need to run, I won't be in such close proximity to my attackers. I wait a very long while. It's midday by the time all of the Careers, save for the boy from District 4 – I'm assuming he died in the bloodbath – come around the Cornucopia and glare down at me, telling me that I can be a part of their group. They make it sound as though they are welcoming me and I pretend that I'm glad to be welcomed. They even bandage the cut on my arm. I introduce myself and they all tell me their names. The boy from District 2 is called Cato, the girl from District 1 is Glimmer and the boy is Marvel. I don't catch the name of the girl from District 4, but I don't think it's going to matter for very long.

"Well now that we're all together, we might as well go see who fled into the woods," Cato says. He hefts up his sword, hands me a knife and smirks, heading towards the forest. I don't speak with anyone as I follow. I'm hoping I don't have to kill anyone. I know that if I don't they'll wonder what exactly I'm doing with them, but I'm also hoping that I can pretend to kill someone and still keep their trust for the time being.

The woods are much harder to navigate than I initially assumed. I'm unused to hunting as Katniss is, so it's hard for me to stay quiet as we traverse through the trees. We walk for hours. They Careers talking among themselves and occasionally to me. One asks me to show how good I am with my knife by having a non-lethal fight with them. We agree to stop when we've disarmed our opponent. I'm expecting to be the one disarmed, but to my surprise, it's me who does the disarming. While everyone congratulates me, Marvel, the boy I fought, grumbles that he's much better with a spear anyway.

As we head deeper into the woods, I start thinking, for the first time, how this must look back at home in District 12. I'm sure that everyone is calling me a traitor and praying that I die. In fact, I'm positive that even Haymitch is doing that now. Probably not Effie. She's probably proud of me for finding a way to keep myself alive. And yes, this is keeping me alive, but that is not the purpose for my betrayal. All feelings others have towards me lost all meaning the moment my name was drawn at the reaping. If I allow myself to worry that someone may dislike me for what I am doing, then my plan wouldn't work out and my plan is this: if I'm with the Careers they'll think I'm leading them  _to_  Katniss instead of  _away_  from her. They'll also suspect me to side with them if we come face to face with her. But I won't. I'll drop all pretenses and help her survive because that's what matters.

I know this is going to be hard to do at first. I don't know where Katniss ran off to and for all I know, I'm heading towards her instead of away from her. Also, I'm not the leader of this pack anyhow. Cato is. He's stronger than all of us combined, he's brutal, he knows what he's doing and he treats us like his subordinates. I can't say that I'm not grateful for this. I've never been a natural leader and if I was leading the Careers, I'd probably give myself away instantly.

Unlike with those around me, I don't have to pretend for the cameras that are no doubt following us that this is what I want. Occasionally, I clench my hands, reopening the wounds there yet again. I want everyone to see that I'm angry I have to do this. Maybe the crowd doesn't know that's what I'm thinking. Perhaps, they think I'm angry that I've  _done_  this. In any event, I think that if I can seem unhappy with my companions to the rest of Panem that they'll send Katniss something. Or maybe that won't work. Maybe if I act like I'm  _glad_  to be with them, the sponsors will pile together to send her something because they'll feel sorry for her since her boyfriend has betrayed her. I decide to try both approaches. I don't think that Katniss is going to get any gifts the first day and I don't expect her to, but as time goes on, I'm hoping that however,  _I_  act is what will get her things she needs to survive.

As the day wears on into night, I can tell that they're become irritated with the lack of tributes they've found. I don't say anything, but every once in a while Cato takes me up on my offer and asks me to survey the area for anyone who could possibly be hiding. I don't see anyone. Even if I did, I would lie and say I didn't, but I don't have to do that. I'm a bad liar when it comes to people I'm afraid of. And I am afraid of the Careers. Not only because they could end Katniss' life, but they could end mine too. They can't kill me yet. No one can kill me yet. I can't die until there are a handful of tributes that I know Katniss can handle on her own. She's smart and fast and knows how to use weapons.

"Can we stop?" Glimmer asks once dusk has covered the land. "I'm tired."

"No," Cato responds instantly. "We have to keep searching. We might miss someone if we sleep right now."

"Come on," she complains. "We haven't come across  _anyone_  in the past…" she pauses to count the hours and when she can't she simply states, "…several hours. Besides, it'll be easier to find someone after we're rested. We'll be able to think better and strategize better."

She does have a point and after a short disagreement, Cato finally agrees. We agree that I'll take the first watch. I know this is partly because I'm not a Career and partly because I told Cato that I would watch his back. I don't complain, even internally. I'm actually glad that I was chosen to stay awake first. My mind is racing and I know I couldn't sleep even if I tried.

My thoughts, as per usual, return to Katniss. I wonder where she is right now. It's obvious she's not dead. I know this because when the faces of the dead are projected from some unknown screen into the night sky, I don't see hers. She's safe. I didn't realize until just now how worried I was that she might not have survived even after entering the forest. I let out my final breath of relief and lean more heavily against the tree. I think more and more about where she could be, what she's doing right now. I bet she was smart enough to sleep somewhere that no one would be able to find her. I glance up and smile when I see how the trees have grown. She's probably up in one of them sleeping. Safe and sound.

Like any person in the arena that has half a brain, I know this is only temporary. She won't be safe forever. She'll eventually run into trouble. It might not be tonight or tomorrow morning, but there are still too many of us left for me to stop worrying about her completely. I have to stay alive until I'm certain that she can handle herself. Even then there's always the chance that she will miss a shot, forget to duck or hide someplace she thinks no one can see that is actually quite visible, but I can't allow myself to think of this right now. Right now I have to focus on the next phase of my plan.

Honestly, I don't have a next phase planned out, but I know I need to come up with one. I can't keep them away from Katniss forever and I also know that I can't stay with them forever. Eventually they're going to realize that I was never friendly with them and then they'll try to kill me. They may even succeed in doing so. In fact, it's most likely they'll succeed. Until then, I have to pretend that I'm helping them. I have to pretend that I'm doing what they want. I don't regret this. I'm keeping Katniss alive this way. However, the one thing I'm hoping I won't have to do, while knowing at the same time I will, is kill someone.

After three hours, I wake up Glimmer, who agreed to take the second watch. I try to sleep, but in an hour I'm being shaken awake by Clove. She seems really excited and I don't know why immediately, but the reason is clear the instant I open my eyes. Not too far away there is smoke curling up into the air, signaling that some tribute was stupid enough to make a fire. I feel sorry for them already, but I have to go with the Careers to make this act convincing.

We tromp through the forest, not even bothering to be quiet or unnoticeable. Cato and Glimmer found some branches to turn into torches. The better so see by, they tell us. If I were as involved with killing as they are I might tell them to slow down and try to stay silent. But I'm hoping that the noise we're making will scare whomever made the fire off. They'll live for another day or maybe two. It's too bad that anyone has to die. What's really too bad is that the rebels didn't win during the Dark Days. Or that they felt they had to rebel in the first place. There are so many what ifs involving this country and its present that it's hard to think about. If only…if only…if only…I'm sure many will be asking themselves that for a while yet.

It takes us longer than I'm sure anyone anticipated for us to get to the tribute that created the fire. I can see the horizon lightening, the sky turning purple, the undersides of the clouds turning from a dark gray to a soft blue. If I wasn't in a place where twenty-three people are going to die, I might find it beautiful.

As we get closer to the camp, our pace slows. We're still half asleep and even though we were sure that where we were trying to get to was relatively nearby we learn that it's not as close as we would have hoped. However, when we finally spot the girl lying asleep near the fire we break into a run. Cato reaches her first. He picks her up by her hair, ignoring her pleas and uses his sword to cut through her chest into her heart. His blade sticks out of her back and I have to dig my nails into my already injured palms to stop myself from retching or screaming. But when everyone else goes over and congratulates Cato, I join in out of necessity, putting on a false smile and even cheering when Glimmer exclaims, "Twelve down and eleven to go!" None of us mention that we're each a part of that eleven because we don't want to think about it right now.

"Better clear out before the body starts stinking," Cato says. We all agree.

As we pass under one tree, I gaze up into the branches. I can see the night sky turning slowly back to its original hue. It's still a beautiful sight. I don't want to think about never seeing that again until I come to that moment. I try to see what I think might be stars, but there's a large clump of branches all in one place. It's strange how they sit. It's almost as if…as if some manmade object is obstructing my view or, more likely, resting up there in a black sleeping bag.

 _Katniss_.

My footsteps stutter for a moment. I don't know how I know it's her, but I do. It's her up there. I want to check and make sure she's alright, but I can't reveal her location. That would be stupid. I'd get us both killed. I force myself to look away and follow the Careers for another ten yards before we stop as Cato says, "Shouldn't we have heard a canon by now?"

"I'd say yes," Glimmer says, crossing her arms over her chest. In the small light we have from the torches allows me to see that she has the bow. Katniss' bow. "Nothing to prevent them from going in immediately."

"Unless she's not dead," Clove says in an angry voice. I can tell she doesn't like Glimmer. I'm positive that once they begin to turn on one another, she'll be the first to go.

"She's dead," Cato cuts in, sounding just as frustrated. "I struck her myself."

"Then where's the canon?" Clove hisses.

"Someone should go back," Marvel cuts in. "Make sure the job's done."

"Yeah, we don't want to have to track her down twice," Clove agrees.

"I said she's dead!" Cato shouts.

They begin arguing again. Clove wants to go back, but Cato wants to move on. Marvel is torn between the two and Glimmer is willing to do whatever Cato wants to do. I learn a lot about them in this moment. Cato and Clove are or were together at one point. Glimmer has fallen for Cato. Marvel is on the lower end of the spectrum next to me. He's also not the sharpest knife in the drawer, unlike Clove. She's not only talented with her blades, but intellectual and knows what she's doing. That's unsurprising considering she's a Career.

As much as I enjoy my informational session, I can't stop thinking about Katniss lying up in that tree. I want to go back and see for myself if it's her. I wonder if she's sleeping right now. Is she having good dreams? Or is she having nightmares of her father dying again? I've heard her wake up screaming for him both in the Training Center and on the train ride to the Capitol. I never said anything because I knew she wouldn't like being called out on her weakness. Although, I found out later she doesn't like being called out on her strengths either.

Tired of the arguing and wanting to get back to see what could potentially be Katniss, I sigh and say is as irritated of a voice as I can manage, "We're wasting time! I'll go finish her and let's move on!"

I don't think anyone else hears it, but there is a rustle in Katniss' tree. I want to run over to her and tell her I don't mean any of this because I know now that she's awake and she heard everything.


	12. The Career Pack

The moment of silence that follows my words, takes my mind to another similar situation. When I was ten years old, I accidentally let slip at the dinner table that I loved Katniss. My mother beat me within an inch of my life for loving a filthy brat from the Seam. She kept trying to get me to revoke my words, but I never did. Finally, she grew tired of hitting me and she left me, broken and bloody at the bottom of the stairs. I couldn't find the strength to drag myself up to my bed until dawn. I didn't go to school the next day and my mother spent that time slapping me across the face whenever she saw me. She would ask me if I still loved Katniss. I would say yes. She would slap me. I eventually told her that she could kill me and I would still love her. That was when she finally stopped. Apparently, it's no fun to hurt something that won't ever relent.

The difference between that moment and this one is these words I do not mean. This alliance I do not want. I'm doing this because I have to and as much as I want to go over to that tree and tell Katniss that I don't mean any of these words, I have to stay as resolute as I did when my mother beat me. I have to take the beating of Katniss' glare, her hatred. She has to hate me. She can't love me right now and she shouldn't ever love me. Portia told me she could, but now that we're in the arena I don't want her to. I can't have her hesitating to kill me if we're the last ones left because I am not going to kill her.

"Go on then Lover Boy," Cato encourages, sounding frustrated. "See for yourself."

I glare, snatching away his torch as I turn on my heel and head back towards the tree where Katniss is, however, I don't stop until I know the Careers can't see me anymore. Then I lean against Katniss' tree and stare at the girl dying next to the fire. She isn't dead yet, but I might as well stay here until she is so the others at least think I killed her. I hate being unable to do anything for her, but Katniss life is more important than hers. My conscience will have to learn to cope with this kind of thing.

I slide down to the ground and look up into the branches of Katniss' tree. I can't see her now, but I know she's there, listening to me, to the Careers, to everything going on around her. I dig my fingers into my already bloody palms to keep myself from calling out to her. It's even more difficult to stop myself from connecting with her when we're this close.

I'm beginning to think that if I truly believed there was no way for the Careers to know, I would climb up into her tree and tell her what I was doing before sliding back down when I hear the voices of those in question sounding from where I left them.

"Why don't we just kill him now and get it over with?" I hear Glimmer hiss.

"Let him tag along," Cato responds. "What's the harm? And he's handy with that knife."

I raise an eyebrow. Am I? Well that's certainly not something I knew before now. In fact, I was genuinely surprised when I came out on top of the knife fight Marvel and I had. I thought it was pure luck. Maybe there was more skill involved that I initially thought.

"Besides, he's out best chance of finding her," he adds.

 _They mean Katniss,_  I think instantly, my fingers tightening around the handle of my knife. They think I can help them find Katniss. I smirk. They're wrong. I'm not going to help them do that at all. They're never going to find her as long as I'm with them.

"Why?" Glimmer asks, annoyed. "You think she bought into that sappy romance stuff?"

"She might have," Clove says. "Seemed pretty simpleminded to me. Every time I think about her spinning around in that dress I want to puke."

"Wish we knew how she got that eleven," Cato mutters.

"Bet you Lover Boy knows," Clove retorts.

That's when I decide I should return. Yes, I do know how Katniss got that eleven, but I don't want them finding out, though I'm sure they won't. Haymitch told us not to go near the archery or the weights and we didn't. Unless one of them can read minds or is friends with one of the Gamemakers, then I doubt they'll ever know that Katniss is the best archer out there. Glimmer has her bow, but she can't use it at all. I saw her trying to hit things with the arrows earlier, but she always missed by a long shot. Katniss would have gotten everything that Glimmer had aimed for.

"Was she dead?" Cato asks, when I come back into the light of their torches.

"No," I respond, "but she is now." It's a stroke of luck that the canon fires right then. "Ready to move on?"

We head off, running once more. We're going deeper into the forest, but I don't know why. It's nearly dawn and I can't be the only one that's thirsty. Unlike many of the other tributes, we have a whole lake to drink from. Also, we don't know our way through the woods like some of the others either, which could prove to be problematic if we don't make this tromp through the woods a short one.

Sure enough, we don't make it to midday before Cato decides to turn us around. I don't know how he does it, but he manages to lead us out of the forest and back to the Cornucopia. For the first time, I realize that our supplies have been out in the open for anyone to take since yesterday afternoon. However, nothing is missing. There's still the nice tent, all the food, everything. This seems to reassure the whole group and we dig into the pile, distributing things among the six of us. Cato finds an armful of water bottles, which he takes down to the lake, fills and purifies before returning, giving us each one of the full bottles. We all drink greedily and go refill our bottles. After a quick breakfast, we head back into the trees. We go past where Katniss is – or was – and end up finding the boy from District 3. Cato is about to kill him, but then he says something that guarantees his survival.

"I can protect your supplies."

"What?" Cato asks in a disgusted tone, lowering his sword slightly.

"I can protect your supplies," he repeats.

"We heard you the first time," Clove growls, moving closer to Cato's prey. "What we want to know now is just exactly how you plan on doing that?"

"Dig up the mines around the launch pads," he says quickly. "Then reactivate them and place them around your supplies."

It takes a much shorter time to convince the Careers to keep this tribute alive than it did me. I'm still wondering why they're even bothering to allow me to live when I remember they're hoping I'll lead them to Katniss. They're going to be disappointed. As much as I can, I'm keeping them away from her. I know she's unarmed right now save for that knife Clove threw at her and as good as Katniss seemed with that one back on the train, I know her real tool is the bow, which is what Glimmer has.

After dragging the boy back to the campsite, we spend the rest of the day putting our supplies in a pile near the entrance to the Cornucopia. Once we have everything nearly arranged, we scatter some of the less valuable items around the pile, making it look like a smaller version of what we saw when we first arrived at the arena yesterday morning. Cato oversees the placement and activation of the mines. It's only after the boy has given him a rundown of where everything is and how everything works five or six times, that he finally gives him a spear, telling him to guard the pile, even though it doesn't really need it, before we dash back into the forest in search of more tributes.

"What if he steals some stuff and bolts?" Clove asks as we jog through the trees.

"He won't," Cato responds. He doesn't even sound slightly breathless.

"How do you know that?" she retorts. "He knows just as well as you do where the mines are placed. In fact, he probably knows how to get to the pile better than any of us.  _He's_  the one that set up that booby trap anyway."

"If he has any sort of brains, Clove, he's not going to do steal from us," Cato says.

That's the end of the conversation, though only because we all know Cato's right. If that boy stole from the pile, Cato would make sure it was him we were hunting down before anyone else. Knowing how good of a hunter Cato is, this makes a shiver run up my spine. I've only been with the Careers a day and I can already tell that Cato is the most dangerous out of all of them. Katniss may be able to hunt animals in the woods, but he knows how to hunt people anywhere. You're not supposed to be trained before entering the arena, but the Career tributes always are. That's why it's normally someone from districts 1, 2, or 4 that win the Games.

 _Not this year,_ I think as we sit to rest before the sun goes down. This year it's going to be a girl from District 12 that wins. Because she has to. Not just for her family, but because I cannot win knowing that she is dead and I cannot die knowing that I could have done more to save her. In a perfect world, Katniss and I would be the last two tributes standing, she would kill me and then go home. Then again, if this were a perfect world, the Games wouldn't exist to begin with, now would they?

"Do we have to hunt at night?" Glimmer groans as we all settle down to get a few hours of rest before we get back up around midnight.

"Yes," Cato says. It's clear that she's beginning to irritate him. He only keeps her around because at this stage in the game, she's going to come in handy. "The others won't be able to see us as well in the dark. We're going to have to use our torches sparingly, okay?"

Glimmer doesn't respond, but everyone else mutters in assent. As I roll over, moving closer to the tree in an attempt to feel safer, I'm privately glad that it's not me who's taking the first watch tonight. That's Marvel's job. He has his spear clutched in both hands and he's glancing around our small clearing, trying to make out shapes that shouldn't be there.

For a while, I gaze around with him, trying to make out the shadows that would indicate a human standing in the darkness beyond our small fire, but in the end, fatigue takes over and I fall asleep. I dream of Katniss dying, of me killing her accidentally, of Cato killing her and me being unable to do anything about it. I wake up a short while later, gasping for air, sitting bolt upright. I'm confused briefly. The forest is so bright and warm, but it can't be morning yet. I glance to my left and see the reason for this sudden change in light and temperature; it also explains my inability to get a good lungful of air.

The wall of fire heading towards us is, thus far, the most deadly thing I've seen.


	13. The Fire

The fire freezes me in place. I glance around and wonder how the others can be sleeping so soundly when the sound of a forest being burnt to a crisp is shattering my eardrums. Marvel fell asleep during his watch and Glimmer, Cato, Clove and the girl from District 4 are all sleeping soundly as well. Their sleep is one of the dead and I can't help but wonder for a moment if the smoke that is now filling my lungs is what killed them. However, when I begin shaking them in an attempt to wake them so we can leave this part of the forest, they stir and are up quickly when they see the wall of fire blazing in our direction.

The exertion it takes for us to grab our weapons and wake ourselves up soon has us coughing and gasping for air. We're all sweating profusely, but when Cato tells us that this is a good thing because we'll be able to use our shirts as a sort of mask from the smoke. Cato, Marvel and I take off our shirts and tie them around our faces. The girls simply pull theirs up over their noses. It'll be harder for them to run, but better that than no chances of survival at all.

Once we're all set we begin bounding through the foliage, following the mass exodus of animals from the area. I don't know where we are and I don't think anyone else does anymore either. The fire has burned down all signs of recognition and I curse the tribute who started it. I catch myself instantly. Tribute? No tribute could create a fire of this magnitude, even on purpose. Then who…the Gamemakers. They're the ones that did this. There haven't been any deaths for a while and the Capitol audience is growing bored. They have to do something to incite a bit of action. I glance over my shoulder and glare at the flames, slowly gaining on us.

It's clear what they're trying to do: drive us all into one spot. More fighting that way. I wonder what they'll do if all of the remaining tributes do end up in one area. This would probably go down as one of the shortest Hunger Games in Panem history and the Capitol audience would be disappointed. No. Driving us together can't be their singular motive. In fact, that might not be their motive at all. Maybe they're just enjoying watching us run for our lives. Not for the first time, I wonder if I lived in the Capitol if I would enjoy watching children kill one another as much as they do.

We skid around a clump of trees that are engulfed in flames. However, the berth we're given to do this isn't particularly wide and the fire licks my chest, burning it. I don't have time to assess the damage. I don't even have time to feel the pain, though I know once my adrenaline runs out it'll be there. I wish I'd simply done what the girls had. I wonder if Cato and Marvel saw what happened and are rethinking having taken off their shirts too.

I don't know how far we get before the smoke and the heat truly begin to take their toll, but I'm sure it's farther than many others would get. As we all slump to the ground, encouraging one another to stand, knowing we really do need this rest, I think about Katniss. Is she alright? Is she in this firestorm too or is she somewhere else? Safe. I pray for the latter as I retch up the food that we had the day before. I glance around and see Glimmer crying, one hand pressed to her chest. Everyone else seems to be in pain as well. I suppose it's good to know that I'm not the only one being baked alive.

The thought of me being baked has me chuckling as we stand once more, ready to move on. I bake bread. Wouldn't it be ironic if I were now the one being shoved in an oven until I was a nice crisp brown? That's what my chest is going to be if we get out of this. The pain has started, but it's only a dull throbbing at this point. I push it down and am just helping Glimmer to her feet when I have to pull my hand from hers as a ball of fire flies between us. I glance towards the flames and see another heading our way. I jump back as the ball ignites the bush I was standing next to only seconds earlier.

We don't even glance at one another. Now we only run as fast as our legs will carry us, dodging the fireballs when we can. Clove barely gets away from one. Cato's shoulder is singed as one zips past him, setting the tree in front of him on fire. I don't know what is happening with the others. I'm running too fast and they're behind me. I'm not going to slow down to look back at them either. It's now I have to remind myself that these aren't really my allies. I'm only with them to keep Katniss safe. If they die in the fire, then she'll have a better chance of survival. I know my conscience won't let me forget if they die when I could have saved them, but I have to try and ignore it right now. Survival is key. My survival. Not theirs.

Somehow we get away from the onslaught before we're cooked. Our lungs are still full of smoke and when we see that the fire has vanished, we all lean up against the trees in the vicinity, coughing and trying to get much needed oxygen into our lungs. Cato, Marvel and I tear our shirts from our faces so we can breathe more deeply I lean against a tree, my shirt dangling from my fingertips as my head rests against the bark, my eyes closed, my mouth open as I gulp in the fresh air. It isn't completely fresh. There's still a thin layer of smoke over this part of the arena.

I sink to the ground along with everyone else. I put my head between my knees, trying to draw in air to keep myself from passing out. I'm sure the Capitol audience is loving this, watching us suffer. Either that or they're groaning at how weak we appear right now. Perhaps they should try this. Let's see how strong when their lungs are full of smoke and their chest has been burned.

That's right. My chest.

Straightening my legs, I look down at my torso. I swallow hard and let out a small gasp. The burn doesn't look as bad as I thought it was going to, but it's bad enough that I wince when I gently probe at it with my forefingers. I'm not given much time to give it much more thought, however. Soon Cato is pulling on his shirt and jacket, demanding we do the same before we move on. He wants to get away from this neck of the woods as much as the rest of us. Even though it hurts, I pull my shirt and jacket back on as well. It'll be a cool night and even if I don't want to wear anything on my torso right now, I know I will later.

We don't make it very far before our fatigue from running along with lack of oxygen catches up with us. We decide we need to take a nap and I volunteer to take the first watch. The minute I'm sure everyone else is asleep, I pull off my shirt and jacket again to examine my burn. Now that it's toned down a bit, I can see that it isn't that bad, but it's bad enough that it's going to slow me down for a while. I press my hand against it and bite back a sigh of relief. My fingers are cool and they manage to suck some of the warmth out of the wound. I do this until I hear Cato stirring, waking up for the second watch. Then I pull my clothes back on and lie down to attempt to get some rest.

Our rest lasts far longer than any of us planned and by the time we finally do get up, the sun is casting long shadows across the ground. We walk lazily through the woods for a while before I hear Cato shout triumphantly. I glance up ahead. I only have time to see a small, slender body disappearing into the leaves of a nearby tree. There is rustling up until we reach the base and that's when I look up to see Katniss amid the leaves. She looks about as good as we do, which is to say terrible.

"How's everything with you?" she calls down a little while later, smiling.

It's clear this surprises everyone, except me. She's just playing them, catching the audience's attention. She told me that I'm the charming one, the one that will get all the sponsors, but she really  _doesn't_  know the effect she can have and the one she's giving off right now is really playing into the hands that will give her all the right cards.

"Well enough," Cato responds. "Yourself?"

"It's been a bit warm for my taste," she says. I smirk and hope no one is looking. "The air's better up here. Why don't you come on up?"

"Think I will," he says.

"Here take this Cato," Glimmer says, holding out the bow and arrows. I glance up into Katniss' eyes for a moment and see her anger at us having what is clearly the weapon meant for her. I pull my knife out of my belt and begin polishing it with the edge of my shirt only moments before she looks down at me. I know she's furious and probably wants to take that bow, sending an arrow straight through my heart. I can't bear to look at her right now knowing that's what she wants to do. Surely she knows I'm purposefully avoiding her gaze, but compared with having to look at her, while she thinks I'm a traitor this is preferable.

"No," Cato says, pushing away the bow. "I'll do better with my sword." My eyes flicker to the blade that I just now realize he's been carrying with him this whole time.

Katniss waits a moment for Cato to pull himself into the tree before he begins climbing again. She's smaller, lighter than him and she's only gone up another ten feet before Cato's branches are cracking. He falls to the ground, hitting it hard and there is a short moment of stunned silence where we all wonder if he broke his neck, but he's on his feet a second later, cursing. I can tell he's holding back. What he wants to do is punch the tree until his knuckles are bloody, but he won't do that. I don't know why, but I do know he won't.

Glimmer tries to shoot at Katniss, but she misses by a long shot. Katniss pulls the arrow out of the wood where it lodged itself and waves it teasingly above her head. When Glimmer tries to head after her, she gets a little farther than Cato before her branches creak from her weight. Then she climbs back down. She glares at Katniss before going over to Cato, hissing, "What are we going to do? We can't reach her and she's not going to climb back down with us here. I can't get her with my bow either."

"She'll have to come down eventually," he responds. "Food, water, bathroom. She'll have to leave that tree before too long."

"She can stay there as long as she needs to," I put in without thinking. "We'll be here for another week and a half waiting for her to come down."

The argument continues and I stay out of the rest of it. I cross my arms over my chest and glare at the ground. This wasn't supposed to happen. I was supposed to keep the Careers away from Katniss, not lead them straight to her, but that's exactly what I did. I was too tired and weak to watch out for her and lead them in a different direction if I spotted her, but that's no excuse. Weakness is what will get Katniss killed. I have to be strong all the time. I don't have a choice.

When the arguing is finally getting on my nerves and has gone on long enough, I say, not bothering to hide my frustration, "Oh, let her stay up there. It's not like she's going anywhere. We'll deal with her in the morning."

I'm hoping by that time I'll have convinced them that we should move on. But I have hunch that my arguments against theirs are going to be very weak. They know that if they don't take her down now there's a good chance that they never will. She has a better chance of survival than they do because of her knowledge of the forest. She could survive up in those branches for at least a few days. She would have to come down eventually, but I know the Careers aren't patient and they won't wait that long. Still, with Cato you never know and I don't want to risk it.

Glimmer decides to take watch for the night. She looks too wide awake anyway, so we don't argue. I glance up towards Katniss. She's lying on one of the forked branches, her leg hanging out of the side of her sleeping bag. I wonder if she got burned too. Her hands did look really red and blistered when I glanced at them earlier.

 _Please let her have a plan,_ I think as I close my eyes.  _Please, please, please let her have a plan to get away._

Because the more I think about it, the more I know that Cato and Clove hate Katniss enough to stay here and wait for her to come down for a long time. If she doesn't get away now, I don't know if she ever will.


	14. The Tracker Jacker Attack

The next morning, I am awakened by a crash and then a scream. I'm disoriented for only a second, but when I see what has caused the noise, I'm up and flying away from the tree. My prayers of Katniss having a plan were answered. Albeit it's a plan that could get all of us killed, but I'm glad she thought to drop a tracker jacker nest on us instead of staying up in her tree waiting to get too thirsty to move before she finally left it.

I'm following Cato through the woods. He's not as lost as I thought he was because only moments later, we're crashing through the trees to the space that holds the Cornucopia and the lake. I don't question it when he jumps into the water. It seems like the smartest thing to do, but I don't escape being stung under the ear before I plunge into the lake.

We stay under as long as we can. When we poke our heads out, we're grateful to see the tracker jacker's have gone. Still, we climb out of the lake cautiously. There are only four of us. Me, Clove, Marvel and Cato. I hear a canon, then another one shortly after. Glimmer and the girl from District 4 are dead. I know that one of those canons could have been for Katniss, but I can't allow myself to think like that. I don't want to even consider there is a possibility she might not have escaped in time.

"Do you think  _she_  was killed?" I hear Clove ask. There's no one in the area except us, but her voice is quiet.

Cato glowers in the direction we came from. His hands clench into fists and I can tell by the look on his face that I was right. Katniss is not dead. He shakes his head once and draws his sword. "She's still there," he says. "She was stung and now she's going to be losing it. You know what those things do to people."

Glancing towards him once, I notice that he was stung under the eye. He's going to be experiencing the side effects of the tracker jacker venom just as I will, just as Katniss will. I don't know how he thinks he's going to be able to function if she can't. She can't have been stung more than once. Most people die if they're stung any more times than that. I've heard that there were times when the Capitol used this as a torture device: they would sting people repeatedly giving them horrible hallucinations, changing their entire reality a little each day before they administered the antidote for the stings before starting up again when the woke up the next morning. I shiver at the thought. That, I think, would be the worst torture, being unable to distinguish lies from truth.

"There's only one way to know if she's dead or not," Clove says, her fingers finding the knives covering the insides of her jacket.

I swallow hard. Even though I know Katniss had the good sense to get herself out of there once we were gone and the others dead, this doesn't stop me from being anxious. I know what it means if she is still there. She could be too foggy from the venom to get away. I only have one sting and already my mind is turning into an incoherent haze. The trees are dripping with paint. I blink and the image goes away. The hallucinations are starting.

"I'm going back to see if she's still there," Cato says, still glaring.

"Me too," I respond, picking up the spear Marvel dropped when he jumped into the lake.

Clove smirks at me. "Oh really, Lover Boy? Gonna kill your girlfriend?"

I tighten my hold on the spear. "Perhaps," I say through gritted teeth. "If I get the chance, you know I will. I led you to her, didn't I?"

No one argues. This isn't true in the slightest, but they're still drowsy from the smoke in their lungs and the tracker jacker poison, so they take this in as pure fact.

Cato shakes himself out of his stupor and grabs me by the shoulder, shoving me forwards. "Come on. We're wasting time. She could already be gone by now. I'm not letting her get away from me. I don't want to have to hunt her down again."

I don't let him finish talking before I'm running. I know if I don't start before him, he'll get there before me and if Katniss is still there, she's going to die. I have a pretty good lead on him, so I'm not worried about him catching me up. Not that it really matters. She isn't going to be there. She's going to be long gone. She'll have disappeared into the forest again. She won't be found. Not a second time. She's going to be go –

She's still there. Sitting in the middle of the clearing, clutching the bow and arrows Glimmer left behind she's there, trying to aim her arrow at me, but she can't. At first, I don't know why, but the closer I come to her, the more I begin to realize, she was stung more than once. There is a tear in her pants and I can see she was stung in the knee. There's another sting on her neck and yet another on her cheek. The poison is having a far greater effect on her than it is on me or Cato.

I lower the spear I didn't even realize I had raised as I near her. When I'm close enough, I give her a shocked, desperate look, hissing, "What are you still doing here?" She stares at me. She doesn't know what I'm saying. I'm going to have to help her. "Are you mad?" I continue, prodding her with the shaft of my spear for good measure. "Get up! Get up!" I'm talking too loudly. Cato can probably hear me. He'll be here any minute. She needs to be gone before he is. She stands and I push her away from me. She stumbles, but that hardly matters. She needs to go. "Run!" I shout as I hear Cato breaking through the foliage behind me. "Run!"

As Katniss is finally running away, I know it's too late for me to pretend she got away and Cato knows it too. He doesn't even bother going after her. He simply comes up to me and presses his sword to my neck just hard enough to cut into my skin a fraction. Blood runs down my neck and stains the collar of my shirt.

"Liar," he hisses.

I smirk. Finally, I don't have to pretend anymore. I'm relieved. I know this could mean my death, but if I am going to die, I want Cato to know how I really feel before I do. "Did you really think I would let you kill her? Were you actually stupid enough to believe what I said the first day at the Cornucopia?"

The chuckle that follows my short speech earns me a punch in the jaw. I reel backwards and fall to the ground, barely able to keep a hold of my spear as my face hits a pile of dead leaves. But, like I've said before, I'm used to this. I'm on my feet in no time at all and I can tell Cato's surprised I can take a punch so well. However, when he punches me in the stomach to try and get me to fall over, groaning in pain, I think he puts two and two together when I only wince. There are highlights to abuse. This is one of them. Survival of the fittest. He may be the fittest, but there's a reason I'm so good at hand-to-hand combat and that's because my mother has been inadvertently teaching me ever since I was a small child.

Before I even have a chance to recover from the fist Cato gave my stomach, he grabs me by the collar of my shirt and hisses, "I'm going to kill you, Lover Boy."

"You can try," I smirk. Who knew I could be so malicious? I don't want to kill, but I may not have a choice. Either I stick to my morals, getting myself killed and allowing Cato to live, or I give them up for this one moment to kill him and give Katniss one less thing to worry about. I won't be able to return to the Career group if I succeed in the latter, but I can survive on my own. At least, I hope I can because either way that's what I'm going to be doing.

Cato shoves me away, raising his sword. This time it's he who smirks and I know I was an idiot to challenge him. Me with a weapon in my incompetent hands, while he has a sword that he is very skilled with. He could defeat me with his eyes closed. That's why he's so smug. I can hardly say that I would feel differently were our situations reversed. Then again, if I was a Career and he wasn't, I wouldn't be the person I am right now. I would be someone completely different.  _I'm not going to let these Games change me,_ I remind myself.  _If I'm going to die, I'm going to still be me._

Not at all intimidated, Cato rushes at me and I only have a minute to sidestep him before he's rushing me again. I manage to duck under his attacks and get away from his attempts to run me over, but I don't do much except tire him and me out. I'm just beginning to think I might have a chance to wear him out to the point where he won't be able to fight anymore when he slashes at my knees. I try to jump over his blade, but I trip and cry out in pain as Cato's sword digs into my left thigh, cutting deep. I feel the sword graze against something that makes me shriek in agony and I realize he cut down to the bone.

I can't fight anymore. Not with this kind of wound. I'm going to die here. Cato is going to slash me through the heart and then I will die in vain, unable to protect Katniss. I breathe heavily, trying to regain some of my former strength, but I know it's no use. Cato comes over, pulling my head up by my hair, exposing my throat. He's about to swing when Clove and Marvel come crashing through the trees.

"What –" Clove begins, but Cato cuts her off.

"He's a filthy liar. He let her get away," he growls.

It doesn't take Clove long to see the truth in this, especially since she suspected me the whole time. Her eyes narrow and I think she's going to kill me herself when she rounds on Cato and says, "You let her get away too! You went after him instead of her!" She gestures to my thigh which is gushing blood.

"I wasn't going to let him get away with this!" Cato retorts, his fingers in my hair tightening. I take a sharp breath as I feel strands beginning to painfully tear away from my scalp.

"He doesn't matter," Clove says looking at him like he's stupid. "With the way you cut him, he'll be dead soon enough anyway. We have to go after  _her_. Which way did she go?"

While Cato tries to remember the direction Katniss ran off in, I contemplate Clove's words. She's right. With the way Cato cut me, I don't have much longer to live. I'll probably die within the next hour unless I can find some way to staunch the flow of blood. I don't realize Cato has shoved me to the ground until my cheek crunches a few dead leaves. I hear the Career's running off in some other direction, away from me. Clearly they think I'm as good as dead and who can blame them? I know they're right.

Still, I have to try to survive. For Katniss. I have to at least stay alive until I know for certain that she's safe. It's this thought that keeps me from passing out as I push myself onto my back. I can't take off my jacket to keep the blood from flowing any more, but I can try to situate the leg of my pants to keep the blood from flowing so freely. With fumbling fingers I manage this. I also somehow manage to push myself to my feet and stagger a few paces before I fall to the ground, my leg unable to support me anymore.

The last thing I hear before unconsciousness overtakes me is a high-pitched scream.

"Katniss…" I whisper, but I can't do anything else. I'm just as dead as she is.


	15. Through the Forest

I'll never know how many times I slip in and out of consciousness, unable to move more than a few feet before I collapse again. During those short periods when I'm not trapped in oblivion, the world around me does strange things. The trees melt into pools of wax. The leaves turn into spiders that crawl all over my face and arms. Too many times, I see Katniss hanging from a tree by her neck, laying on the ground an arrow in her heart, surrounded by a pool of blood. As I move deeper and deeper into the forest, I realize that I was stung more than once. Why else would my hallucinations be this vivid and horrifying? I know Katniss was stung three times. I wonder what she's seeing. Tracker jacker venom invades the part of your mind where your worst fears are kept. She loves her sister more than anyone else the world, so, it would stand to reason that if I'm seeing Katniss die repeatedly, then she's seeing the same happen to Prim.

As time wears on, the visions become more and more terrible. I see Katniss surrounded by the pack of Careers. They're torturing her and laughing at her screams. I beg them to stop, but this only seems to encourage them. They continue to hurt her until I fall back into darkness. When I open my eyes again, it's my mother standing before me this time. She's threatening me with a knife. The beatings have never been the worst part. It's the threats she gives me that are truly horrifying if only because I can see in her eyes she means them. To her they're not just frightening ultimatums, but deadly promises.

I weaken as time goes on. The wound on my leg is taking its toll. It's slowing me down, killing me. I don't know how I'm not dead yet. I thought for sure that I would have bled to death by now, but I'm still alive. A part of me wishes this weren't so. If I were dead, I wouldn't be experiencing this torture.

Eventually, unable to cope with the grotesque images surrounding me, I curl up against a tree, bury my face in my hands and wait for it to stop. I must fall unconscious again because when I open my eyes, the world is quiet for the first time in what must have been days. It feels as though years have passed since I was in a world where horrid pictures don't fill your sight every waking moment. It's a relief.

Uncurling myself, I stretch out my injured leg and am unable to stop the groan of pain that escapes my lips. I'm stiff all over. I know it's been days since the tracker jacker attack. I gaze down at my wound and wonder how I'm still alive. I gently probe at the ragged flesh surrounding the area, but pull my fingers back instantly when a wave of pain shoots up and down my leg, making me clench at the ground, trying to keep myself from shrieking. I can't remember the last time I was in this much pain. I don't even know if I've ever been in this much pain.

 _You have to move now, Peeta,_ I tell myself after a few moments of rest. If I don't explicitly tell my body what to do, I don't know if I'll be able to coax it into mobilization. Even then, I don't know if I'll have the strength to move. My wound has weakened me considerably and I know I can't stay out in the open like this for much longer. Sooner or later, Cato, Clove and Marvel are going to come looking for me and if I'm not carefully hidden by then, this time they won't hesitate to do away with me. And who can blame them? If I were as eager to win the Games as they are, I would kill someone I already thought was dead.

 _No, you wouldn't,_  a voice tells me. And it's right. I wouldn't kill for my own personal gain. The only way I would kill anyone would be if they were threatening someone I love.  _Katniss._  If Cato, Clove or Marvel go after her, I'll have to kill them. I won't want to. I don't want to kill anyone. But she has to win. She has to stay alive and if I'm going to die anyway, I'd rather die knowing I took someone that was going to hurt her down with me than let my conscience win out.

Still leaning against the tree, waiting to gain the strength to move, I rack my brain trying to come up with a way I can hide myself. In any event I'm going to die, but I'd rather bleed out than suffer the pain of Cato's sword a second time. The only way I can assure that is through camouflage. In this arena, I have many options, but only a select few are doable to someone injured as I am. For instance, I can't climb and hide in a tree like Katniss does, but I can fade into one of the bushes. However, that may even be a bad idea. Wherever I plant myself is where I'm going to have to stay and I'd rather not die of thirst, which is what will happen if I don't end up near some sort of body of water. The lake isn't an option, but I know there are rivers and ponds in the woods. I'll have to find one of those.

This time when I tell myself to move I actually succeed in doing so. I don't get to my feet on the first try, but I do manage to after several more attempts. By then, I'm so worn out I have to lean against a tree to catch my breath. I don't spend too much time doing this. I only stay stationary until I feel I can move again. Then, pushing myself from one tree, I stagger to another. For hours I do this. In between these times I rest, taking time to check my wounded leg. Blood has soaked my pants, gluing them to my skin. When I press my hand to my injury, my fingers come away covered in red. By this time, night is fast approaching and with the darkness my thoughts become muddled. The only thought that runs through my head is that I must be some sort of superhuman. How else could I possibly be alive? Anyone else would have bled to death by now, so why haven't I? Again, my foggy brain comes to the silly and utterly ridiculous superhuman conclusion. I'm too sick to think of anything else.

As I continue my stumbling through the forest, my thoughts, as always, turn to Katniss. Where is she?  _How_  is she? Is she alive or was that scream I heard the day of the tracker jacker attack her last? I know if she's dead it's my fault and, though I told Portia if she died I would try to win for her, she must know in my current condition that's an impossibility. Besides, if Katniss is dead, I don't want to live anymore.

 _She's not dead,_ my instincts tell me and, because it's too painful to consider anything else, I believe them. How could she be anything else anyway? She was tortured by the tracker jacker venom, same as me and if I managed to survive that without being killed by one of the other tributes she must have as well.

The Panem anthem has me gazing at the sky long enough to see no one died today. I'm not so sure about the other two days, but I'm praying that one of the other Careers was taken out by either Katniss or someone else.

When the seal of Panem flashes across the night sky, I turn my gaze back to the ground and, just before darkness engulfs the world, I see the light from the image above glint off of something. This glint reminds me that I haven't been tromping through the woods for no reason. I've been looking for something. And I think I finally found it.

_Water._

I stagger forwards a few paces, slamming into a rock. My hand that had been pressed to my wound only a few moments earlier smears blood against the stone as I try to steady myself against it. My eyes strain to see through the wall of black in front of them, but my ears can hear the soft gurgling of the river I've come upon. It's only now that I've finally found this place that I realize how weak I've become. I've been stumbling through the woods all day badly injured. It's only by some miracle that I'm still alive. If I continue to exert myself in this way, I'm going to end up dead sooner rather than later.

As if to emphasize my thoughts, my knees, unable to hold my weight any longer, buckle. I slip forward and my blood hand drags further down the rock, making it look as though I tried to wipe my fingers off on the stone. I continue sliding until I'm on my knees. My fingers painted crimson stain the leaves on the ground where I now am. I move my hand from the ground back to my wounded leg and survey the area as best I can in the dark.

Slowly, my eyes grow accustomed to the lack of light and I can see that I am in something that could almost be considered a valley that is lined on either side by rocks, big and small. Down the middle runs the river. As far as I can see from my current position, it looks crystal clear. Perfect water for drinking. I don't have anything to treat it with, but I can't afford to be picky right now. I'm going to die anyway, so what's the point in denying in the inevitable?

I almost laugh in relief when I see the river is lined with mud. I can bury myself in that, but it's going to have to wait until tomorrow. I need to rest now. I need to sleep. I know I may never wake from this, but that's alright with me now. Dying in your sleep is a pleasant way to go. No pain, no fear, just closing your eyes and drifting away. I place a smile on my lips. If I'm going to die tonight, I want to die smiling.


	16. Buried Beneath

The sound of the cannon jolts me awake. For a minute, I forget where I am. I don't understand what I'm doing in the middle of a forest. I don't remember having left the district. I don't think I've ever done that once in my life. So why am I here now? Then it all comes back to me. The night before, the many,  _many_  nights before and what happened only a few hours ago. That cannon was the signal that someone else has died because I'm in the Hunger Games. The pain in my thigh reminds me –

But there is no pain. I glance down and see that indeed my leg is still badly hurt, but I no longer feel the pain from the blood that drenches my pants. I press my hand to the wound and it comes away covered in blood and a few threads of fabric. I realize that I fell over from where I was originally sitting last night and as I struggle to sit upright, I wipe my fingers off on another rock, the bits of string coming away with it.

I lean back against the rock, in an attempt to catch my breath, thinking that it really can't be good I don't feel any pain in my leg anymore. The nerve endings must have been severed and it only took until now for my body to register this. I would have thought that would happen more quickly, but with how wounded I am, I'm actually not surprised it took this long. I was more focused on getting to a source of water than on what condition my body was in. I know that's really what I should have been worried about, but it doesn't matter now. I'm where I was trying to get to and now I figure out on how I'm going to keep myself alive for a little longer. Of course, I'm going to need to bury myself in the mud, but that's the easy part. The hard part is where I'm going to be and how I'm going to access water.

 _Maybe I can get enough to sustain me for a few days before I have to move again,_ I think, but I know this is an impossibility. Your body needs a certain amount of water every day, meaning I could drink half of the river today and I'd still need more tomorrow. I'll have to move everyday because I need water, but once I bury myself as deeply in the mud as I plan to, I won't be able to move without exerting myself to the point of unconsciousness. I can tell already that simply getting to the edge of the river, only a few feet away, is going to be a challenge. My body is growing weaker every day. Soon I'm going to be unable to move at all and I want to be well hidden by then.

Absentmindedly touching my wound, I wonder who the cannon fire was for. My mind immediately turns to Katniss. As much as I tell myself not to, I know I'll always worry as to whether or not it is she that has died until I myself leave this world. I just pray that when I die Cato, Clove and Marvel have also. Then I'll know she has a chance. I don't know how she'll do against the boy from District 11, but I'm sure she could take out everyone else easily.

Then I remember. The  _girl_ from District 11. Rue, I think her name is. I could see from the look in Katniss' eyes that she reminded her far too much of her sister. That's dangerous. That's far more dangerous than any of the Careers are or the boy from District 11. It's much more deadly for there to be someone in the arena that Katniss _can't_  kill than someone she has no trouble doing in. Something tells me that, though she's probably more accustomed to killing than I am, she still won't enjoy it when the time comes for her to do so.

Pushing thoughts of Katniss and Rue to the back of my mind, I prepare myself for the arduous task that is going to involve dragging myself to the river bed, drinking, perhaps eating some of the reeds there, and then burying myself. I know the dragging and the burying are what will take the most energy out of me so I plan to drink as much as I can the minute I get to the stream. Then I'll root around for some plants that are edible. If I remember correctly, Katniss said that most water plants aren't poisonous or bad for the body. They might even keep me alive. Well, I'm going to have to gorge on them.

I'll never know how I manage to not only push myself away from the rocks, but stand as well. I'm not on my feet for more than a few steps before I collapse, groaning in pain. Apparently, any pressure on my leg will have it flaring up again. I guess I could be happy about this. This means that my nerves aren't as damaged as I thought. Then again, if they were I wouldn't be in so much pain and that might be preferable right now.

Curled into a trembling ball, I lie in the mud, trembling. Some of the muck is seeping into my mouth, but I don't currently have the strength to wipe it away. I try spitting it out, but my jaw muscles aren't working right either. In fact, I think I end up dirtying my mouth more than cleaning it. I'm too weak, too sick to care that much though. I close my eyes and allow my body to sink into soft ground.

When I open my eyes, the sun has definitely moved across the sky. Not much, but enough to let me know that I was sleeping. I've regained some strength after my rest and I push myself up onto my elbows. I'm on my stomach and my wound is filling with the watery earth, but I'm concentrating on getting to the stream now. After having my mouth full of dirt, I need a drink. Not only that, but I'm dehydrated. My thoughts are unclear and it's taking a lot of effort for me to remember simple things. One thing that doesn't seem to register in my mind at all, no matter how many times I remind myself, is that I have to move both my arms and my hips if I want to get to the riverbed. The mud, not to mention my wound, is making it much harder to move and I'm beginning to wonder if I'll ever get the water I so desire.

After much more struggling and gasping, I do reach the river. I want to stick my head into the rushing water, but with how weak I am I don't know if I'd be able to pull it back out Instead, I grit my teeth and push myself up into a sitting position on the river's edge, my feet dangling into the clear water. It's agony to lean forwards, scoop liquid into my palms, then straighten to drink, but I do it several times because I don't know when I'm going to be able to do this again. The water is cool and my feverish body loves the feel. Once I've had my fill, I push myself away from the edge and lay back, allowing my weak body a moment's rest before I begin the arduous task of burying myself.

When I feel I can at least start what I must accomplish, I sit up and begin digging a hole the length of my body with my hands, making it only a few inches deep. Once that's finished, I maneuver myself over into the hole and begin piling the dirt back on top of my body. This won't be enough to hide me, but it's a start.

I quickly cover my lower body in mud. Then I begin smearing it over my clothes and skin. I'm more careful on my hands and face than the rest of me. Eventually, I do go back and properly camouflage my chest and legs, but that's only once I've gotten the rest of me covered. There are some plants within my reach and I place them with purpose on top of and around me. The last thing I do is cover my eyelids and lips. I'm going to have more mud in my mouth, but it'll keep me hidden. Even so, I place a very thin layer of the stuff over and around that area.

When I'm satisfied with what I've done, I smile and lay back in the ground, feeling the earth seep over me, enveloping me. I'm already buried really. I don't want the hovercraft to come and take me away from here. It's far too peaceful. I'm sure that there are many people who wouldn't want their final resting place to be the arena. I know Katniss is one of them. But that's what I want. Whether I like it or not, I have been changed in here. Not as drastically as I feared, but just enough to make me think realize that there really isn't anything I can do to make a difference in this world. The only difference I can make for myself is to not die in vain, but it seems that's inevitable now.

Voices have me opening my eyes again. Voices that I recognize. The Careers. I drop my eyelids instantly, but they pass right by me. Still, I wait several moments before I look and try to see what has them so riled up.

It's rather hard to miss, the spiral of smoke leading up to the sky and I can't stop the sharp intake of breath that comes with my fear. Is that Katniss? I tell myself it can't possibly be her. She's too smart for that. But at the same time, I can't help wondering if somehow she thought that she killed them during the tracker jacker attack. I don't know this for certain, but if I didn't see the sky for two days when I was made delusional by the poison in my veins there is a very high chance that she didn't either. However, she isn't one to assume, so I don't know what's going on.

Clearly the Careers don't either because shortly after thinking this, I hear them coming crashing back through the trees. I close my eyes and listen to them muttering angrily. Clove, Cato, Marvel and the boy from District 3. Clove is growling about how they were tricked. Cato is hissing about how he's going to kill Katniss with fervor once he finds her.

 _Not if I can help it,_ I think. I know I'm not going to see her again before I die, but that isn't going to stop me from trying to –

An explosion shatters the world around me. This isn't any simple cannon fire, telling that someone has died, this is a true explosion, one that has the entire earth shaking. Once the world stops trembling, my instinct kicks back in and I smirk because I know who triggered this explosion. I should have known all along I had nothing to worry about, not really. Because that was Katniss. And she just blew the Careers' supplies sky high.


	17. Disillusioned

It's all I can do to keep myself from laughing. Although even if I did laugh, I don't know what it would be at. The Careers misfortune or the fact that Katniss outsmarted them. Probably a combination of the two. I can't believe it's taken me this long to realize that, though they may be talented with weaponry, the Careers are not a smart bunch. All they know is battle strategy, ways to kill and keep themselves from being killed. They don't know how to protect their base camp. That's one of the things that can wait. In their eyes, as long as they kill everyone in sight, it doesn't really matter what else happens.

At least, that's what they thought until today.

Seconds after the explosion, I hear the Careers stampeding back towards the camp. They're not talking, but I'm sure that when they get to their base there's going to be a great deal of screaming and yelling. Cato can't control his temper even in simple situations. I saw this at the Training Center. I can only imagine what's going to happen to him when he sees the damage that Katniss has done.

There are three more explosions scattered throughout the course of fifteen minutes, probably from falling debris. Then they end and the world is silent once more. I hear yelling from the lake. Then desperate pleas, but that only lasts for a second before they're cut off abruptly. I wouldn't be surprised at all if that was the boy from District 3. Clearly, Cato's beginning to realize that the mine idea wasn't the best after all. I grin.  _No, it wasn't,_ I think.  _She outsmarted you. Katniss outsmarted you. She's better than you are._

That's when a horrible thought crosses my mind. It would appear that I am incapable of keeping calm when thinking about Katniss, but this time I have a legitimate reason to be scared.

What if she blew herself up when she triggered the mines around the Careers' supplies? I don't think she would have been dumb enough to get that close to the pile, but you can't see mines. You don't know where they're buried. Not until you set them off. What if she was too close to one of them and now she's dead? Out of all my fears of her death thus far, this one is the most likely and least irrational. Katniss is smart, but she wouldn't know where the mines were. She probably threw something at the supplies and if she got that close then there really is a good chance that she went up with it. I know she'd think that was an honorable death and I suppose it would be, but she can't die. Not now. Not when I'm going to die too. I said I would win if she died, but I'm dying. How can I keep that promise when I can't even move?

I know there's a distinct possibility that Katniss is alive. There was no cannon, but then again, the explosions were so loud that it could have been fired during them. No one would have heard it. This scares me more than anything else. I don't know why, but thinking that I missed the cannon letting all of Panem know that Katniss is gone, makes me feel as if I've failed her in a way. I feel like I didn't get to properly say goodbye to her. Then again, in the arena, there are no proper goodbyes. Still, I find it unfair and I hate myself for it. Again, I find myself thinking,  _Why her?_ Out of all the people that could have been chosen, why did it have to be Katniss' little sister? Surely everyone knew that she was going to volunteer for her. She loves her sister far too much to do anything else.

The cannon goes off for the boy from District 3. I can't see it, but I'm sure a hovercraft appears and takes away his body. The sun is falling below the horizon now. I wonder, again, if Katniss survived the explosions and if she did where she is now. My heart is pounding in my chest until I hear the anthem. Then it doubles its speed. I snap my eyes open and stare up at the sky, watching to see who it was that died this morning. Two faces appear in the sky: the boy from District 10 and the boy from District 3. No Katniss. She's alive. I don't know if she's safe or uninjured, but she's alive and right now that's what matters.

Covered in a blanket of mud, I'm considerably warmer than I was the night before. I close my eyes and pray I'll be able to sleep, even if it's only for a few hours. However, as the night goes on and the air chills, I begin feeling as though my nose is going to fall off and my fingers are going to get frostbite. I manage to get my hands and arms deeper into the mud, so they're a little warmer, but my nose is going to have to tough it out till morning. No doubt Katniss is up in a tree somewhere with her sleeping bag. Nice and warm. I hope. I know that now the Careers know that the culprit of the explosion was not killed, they're going to be out hunting for her. All I can do is pray they don't find her.

Somehow I manage to sleep. My dreams are horrible though. All I can see in my mind's eye is Katniss being blown to bits, the Careers capturing her and torturing her. All of the horrors that I saw during my time with the tracker jacker venom reappear before me. What has triggered this exploitation of terror is a mystery to me, but all I can do his whisper her name over and over again in my head, waiting for the night to end, for me to wake up.

For a long time, I don't think I will. I think this has become my reality and that's why when I tell myself it's only a dream, that I must wake up, I don't. I'm scared that this is true and it takes me a long time to realize otherwise, and even then that's only when I open my eyes in the morning to the bright sunlight shining overhead. I can't help gasping in relief. Thank God that was only a dream. Thank God that wasn't real.

The day is uneventful. I stare up into the foliage above me and try to think of someday climbing those trees, touching the leaves hanging from the branches. I don't think I'd be able to get that far into the tree. I weigh much more than Katniss does. She's slender, tiny. She can scale a tree and not even have any of the branches creaking. I meant it when I told Haymitch that she'll be sitting up in a tree picking people off eating raw squirrels. I realize now that's a bit of an exaggeration, but it doesn't stop me from smiling. For whatever reason, that image is now comical. Is this what happens when you're close to death? Everything starts being funny? I don't think so, but it's better than feeling sad about absolutely everything.

Not wanting to think about Katniss and the nightmares I had last night, I continue staring up at the greenery. I wonder what it would be like to be a bird. I could fly, be free, have no worries. I suppose in here I'd have to worry about someone taking my eggs or eating me, but if I wasn't here, I'd have nothing to worry about except building a nest, taking care of my babies and – then I start to laugh. I'm, of course, thinking if I were a female bird. The thought is funny to me and this time it's not for any stupid reason. I try to stop laughing, but I can't. I tell myself I'll be found by the Careers still combing the woods for Katniss, but my mind doesn't really care.

 _Let them come,_ I think still laughing hysterically.  _I've lived a good life. If I die with a smile on my face, I'll have no regrets. Especially not after Katniss blew up their supplies._

That's when I hear a scream. Not a scream that a teenage girl would make, but one that a small girl would. It doesn't take me long to figure out who it is.  _Rue._  She's the only one capable of making that sound. There aren't any other girls as little as she is and even if there were, they've all been killed now. She's somehow managed to stay alive all this time. I wonder what happened to her now.

She screams again and I have to stop breathing to see if I heard her correctly. She's screaming a name. A name I recognize. Katniss' name. That's when I come to the realization that they must have become allies. I wish this weren't so. I know that this little girl's death is going to hurt her. She's reminded too much of her sister. It'll be like watching her sister die and when I hear her shouting back to the little girl, telling her she's coming, I know I'm not wrong.


	18. The Song & the Hope

Whomever hurt Rue is long since dead, of that I am certain. Just as Katniss would never allow someone who hurt Prim to get away with it, I'm sure she's punished whoever gave this little girl just as much agony. I wish this wasn't happening. I should have known from the beginning that Katniss would be dumb enough to form an alliance with this girl. She had to know that Rue was going to die. She had to know that both of them couldn't survive. This is the problem with forming alliances. I didn't form one because I wanted the Careers to survive too. I did it because I thought, for whatever reason, that I could keep them away from Katniss. However, with her it's different. She formed an alliance with Rue because she reminds her of Prim. The thought of Prim and Katniss in the arena together comes to my mind, but I shut it out immediately. Just as I will kill myself for Katniss to survive, she would kill herself to keep Prim alive.

Coming from the direction I first heard her voice, comes a shout asking someone if there are more. I can only assume it's Katniss asking her little ally if there are more Careers hidden in the trees and there must not be because I don't hear anymore battle sounds. It's a bit of a relief really. I don't want to think about Cato and Katniss within 100 miles of one another. She is a good shot, she's an amazing shot actually, but Cato has more battle skills then she does and I honestly don't know which one of them would come out on top.

It occurs to me only when I realize that I can hear Katniss and Rue whispering to one another that they must be very close by. I can't see them, but if I had to guess, I'd say they were just behind the wall of trees to my left.

"You blew up the food?" I hear Rue whisper.

I smile. I was right. Katniss did outsmart them. My thoughts are confirmed when she responds with, "Every last bit."

"You have to win," Rue says.

"I'm going to. Going to win for the both of us now," she says. I can hear the promise in her voice. I'm so focused on what she's saying that when the cannon fires, I jump. For a moment, I think it's for the little girl, but then I realize it has to be for her murderer.

"Don't go," Rue says, her voice desperate.

"Course not," Katniss says, her tone reassuring. "Staying right here." Of all the people that could be with her as she's dying, I'm glad it's Katniss. She knows how to take care of small children. I have no doubt that someday she will make a wonderful mother. That is, if she ever is a mother. I'm sure she knows it would be safer for her not to be, but…if she found the right person…would she consider it then?

Of course I'm assuming that  _I'm_ the right person and that's ridiculous. I'm dying, she probably still hates me and I'm sure that romance is the last thing on her mind. She has far more important things to worry about and, frankly, so do I.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, the most beautiful sound wafts through the trees to my ears. I've only ever heard this sound once or twice before, but that doesn't change the fact that I recognize it. I don't see how I could not. It's what changed my life forever and I don't think anyone could just forget a sound like that. Then again, it's pretty hard to forget the sound of Katniss' voice.

_Deep in the meadow, under a willow_

_A bed of grass, a soft green pillow_

_Lay down your head, and close your sleepy eyes_

_And when again they open, the sun will rise_

Not only do I recognize this as her voice, but I recognize this song. It's not one that's heard often, but I've walked by Katniss' house on occasion and heard her singing this to Prim. She used to sing in music class at school. After her father died, I never heard her sing in public again, but when I wanted to hear her voice, I would walk to her house and sit underneath the window that looked out from her bedroom when I heard her sister was sick. That was the only time she sang and I only knew that because I heard her saying this to one of her few friends once and the next time I heard her sister was sick, I walked to her house to see if this was true. And it was.

_Here it's safe, here it's warm_

_Here the daisies guard you from every harm_

_Here your dreams are sweet and tomorrow brings them true_

_Here is the place where I love you._

I know that it was probably really awkward of me to walk down to the house of a girl I don't know and sit under her window to listen to her sing, but after hearing so much about how other children's mothers had sung to them when they were sick I wanted to hear what that might sound like. I've never had a mother. Not really. I know that Katniss hasn't really had what most people would call a mother either, but she is a mother to Prim and I wondered if she would sing to her the songs other kids said their mothers had sung to them. Looking back on it, I think that I probably shouldn't have done what I did, but if I had a choice between sitting at home, listening to my mother yell at me or sitting under Katniss' window and listening to her sing, I would always choose the latter.

_Deep in the meadow, hidden far away_

_A cloak of leaves, a moonbeam ray_

_Forget your woes and let your troubles lay_

_And when again it's morning, they'll wash away_

Rue must be nearly dead now. I only know this because Katniss' voice is softening and I barely hear this verse. The last one is completely inaudible. I try not to imagine the look on her face right now. It must be one of sheer sorrow. I know what that feeling is, but I've never seen it on Katniss' face. She's good at hiding those kinds of emotions. I can see through her masks, but that doesn't mean I've ever seen such pain so clearly coloring her features. Honestly, I never want to. It would break my heart to see her so downtrodden when I know how strong she is. It takes a lot to make Katniss sad and I don't want to ever see her in so much pain.

A cannon fires and this time I know it's for the dead girl in Katniss' arms. There's a period of silence before the hovercraft appears. I watch it carry Rue up out of sight. I half expect Katniss to come bursting out of the wall of trees she was behind, but she must have headed off in the other direction because even after the hovercraft is gone, I don't hear her footsteps crunching upon the dead leaves that blanket the forest floor.

I stare at the sky as I did yesterday, watching the sun fall below the horizon. I wonder where Katniss is. I wonder what the Careers are doing. I wonder who killed Rue until I see Marvel's face in the sky. I'm not going to lie and say I'm not disappointed it isn't Cato, though I suppose I should have known it wasn't. Cato would have made the girl's death swift. Marvel isn't smart enough to do that. He's more than a little slow at things and if I had to guess, he probably threw his spear at her.

Somehow, I manage to fall asleep. My dreams aren't as terrible as they were the night before. In fact, they're pleasant. I dream of Katniss being happy. It's something that rarely even crosses my mind because of how rare an occurrence it is. Maybe it happens more often than I think it does, but I've never seen her smile in real life like I have in my dream. I wonder how I know she even looks like this when she smiles when I also know I've never seen her like this before. Maybe it's just my delirium.

The next day is uneventful. I watch the birds fly lazily from tree to tree and I, again, imagine myself with wings. I rest of the majority of the day. I don't want to keep my eyes open. It's too boring. My dreams are much more exciting. I know they're the dreams of a foolish, dying boy, but that doesn't make them any less interesting or wonderful. Katniss is in almost all of them and in almost all of them, she's singing me to sleep, to death. I wish that's what would happen to me when I die. I wish it was her voice that will be the last thing I hear. But I know it won't. She's long since gone. Headed off in the other direction.

The light dims. Night comes. The anthem plays and there is the seal in the sky, showing no faces, no deaths. I'm closing my eyes, settling in for the night when the trumpets. My eyes snap open. Normally, the trumpets are a call to a feast, so we can take out a few of our competitors. I can't go anyway, I'm in no condition, but I'm still eager to hear whatever it is Claudius Templesmith has to tell us.

He congratulates us, the last six of us. I wait for him to say that there is going to be a feast at the Cornucopia, but he never does. Instead he says there's a rule change in this year's Games. I never knew there were any rules to begin with. He goes on saying that this year both tributes from the same district, if they are the last two alive, can win. There's a short silence before he repeats what he's said.

It takes a moment for this to sink in. Two tributes from the same district can win this year. That means that I can win and Katniss can win. She can win and I can win and we can go home together. I let out a small gasp. I want to scream her name, but I whisper it instead. It's her who shouts my name. She's far away, but I can hear it from here.

 _Peeta,_ she's saying, calling for me.

"Katniss," I whisper in response. "Katniss, I'm here."


	19. First Kiss

The sky darkens and Katniss' call cuts off. She probably realized it wasn't a good idea to be calling my name right now. And the more I think about it, the more I realize that she's right. I was correct when I thought she was far away from me because I could barely hear her shouting. This is why it is so dangerous for her to have said anything. If I could hear her from where I am, then I'm sure Cato and Clove and whoever else is out there could hear her too.

If Katniss is planning on becoming my ally, does she know that Cato wounded me? And if she does, does she know how badly? I know that's not going to stop her from coming to find me. She knows as well as I do that if either one of us returned home without first teaming up with the other, we'd be considered pariahs. This is the only thing keeping me from moving. This and the fact I can't move anyway.

Honestly, I don't want Katniss to find me. I'm a danger to her. I'm sick and gravely wounded. There isn't much she can do with me. If the Careers happen upon us, I'm going to die and there's a good chance she will die too. Cato and Clove are a dangerous team. They hunt at night. They have a pair of night vision glasses. And they can move silently. I haven't wanted to admit it to myself until now, but really, Katniss, Cato and Clove are evenly matched.

I swallow hard. This thought frightens me. If they heard her, if they find her, if they – I clench my hands into fists. What if they already found her? And she was killed when her shout for me was cut off instead of having stopped herself? What if I didn't hear her cannon because my ears are full of mud? I don't want to think about it, but Katniss' death is something that hasn't been able to stay out of my mind since the Games began. At first, my worries were probably unfounded, but now…now that there are so few of us left, it's going to be much easier to find one another. Especially if one of our fellows is unsuspecting.

As per usual, I push thoughts of Katniss from my mind and try to figure out who it is we have left. There's me and Katniss, assuming she isn't dead. Cato and Clove, the boy from District 11, I think his name is Thresh, and one more, but I can't remember. I think it's a girl from one of the less well known districts. I don't know what her strategy has been in the arena, but it's clear it hasn't been to fight, otherwise I would have seen her. Perhaps she's the smartest out of all of us, staying hidden, not letting anyone find her. In a way, that's what I'm doing now, but it isn't what I was doing from the beginning. Maybe I would have been more help to Katniss if I was hiding from the start. Something tells me that's untrue, but I'm sure that the Careers wouldn't have found her the day before the tracker jacker attack if I hadn't been with them.

If I remember correctly, the boy from District 11, Thresh, is that strong, big boy who barely spoke during his interview with Caesar. He's most definitely a threat. He could probably punch someone and kill them. However, I haven't seen him much either. A part of me remembers going over towards a field near the Cornucopia during my time with the Careers. We didn't go in because it looked like a place where people die. Then again, the entire arena is a place where people die, but there was something about that field that kept Cato from leading us into the tall grass.

The last threat Katniss has is Cato and Clove. I haven't been counting any of these people towards myself because if any one of them finds me, I'm just as dead. Katniss, on the other hand, at least has a chance. Cato is good at close quarters combat, but Clove can throw knives. She could easily take Katniss out from a distance. Then again, Katniss could do the same. She has a bow now and therefore she is deadly.

I want to call out to Katniss a second time, but instead of in a whisper use my full voice so she can come find me now.  _Don't,_ I tell myself.  _You won't be doing yourself or Katniss any favors by being caught and killed now. Just go to sleep. You can worry about this in the morning._

I listen to my thoughts and sleep. I don't dream of Katniss tonight, however. In fact, I don't dream of anything. When I awake in the morning, this frightens me. For a long time, I can't figure out why, but after I doze off again a few hours into the morning into the same dreamless sleep, I realize why I'm so startled: this is the sleep of the dead.

All my life, I've dreamt when I sleep. Good dreams, nightmares have always ruled my nightly thoughts. I can't think of a single night in my life where I went to sleep and my dreams were just of a black wasteland and nothing more. I've had dreams of my mother being what I always wished she would have been. I've also had nightmares of the opposite. And recently my nightmares have been of Katniss dying, where my dreams have been of her living and singing to me, something I've always longed for. Now I'm dreaming in darkness and, for me that constitutes to dreaming about death.

Am I really so close to dying? It doesn't surprise me. In fact, the only thing that does surprise me is the fact it's taken this long for my body to finally give out. I wonder if it's had anything to do with me lugging heavy things around all my life. Maybe Katniss was right. My strength is something to be contended with. Or at least it was. It isn't anymore. That's for sure. Not now that I am dying. I wonder if I'll be dead before Katniss finds me. I don't want that to be so. I want to see her face one last time. Just one last time.

The morning drags by slowly. I watch the sun drag itself across the sky and spot smoke from a fire not too far off. I'm guessing this is either Katniss trying to confuse her enemies or that girl from District 5, too stupid to conceal her smoke. I wonder if there even is a way to do that: have a fire and conceal it. I'm sure there is a way. I just never had the chance to learn it. Nor the need. Katniss probably knows. I'm sure she's stayed out in the woods plenty nights. It's this that leads me to believe, if she is the one that started the fire, then she's letting the smoke show on purpose. I think back to the other times when I was worried she hadn't been thinking about the possibility that others would see her smoke. Just one more ridiculous thing I've done.

I stare at the birds. I watch the sun. I spend the morning and the first part of the afternoon doing what I have been for the past couple of days. I'm beginning to doze off, wondering if Katniss is ever going to find me when I hear footsteps so soft that at first I think I must be imagining them, but then they sound again and I know I'm not. I wait. They come closer. There's a voice accompanying them, but the mud covering my ears isn't allowing me to distinguish it all that well.

Is it Katniss? I wouldn't know. My eyes are closed. Opening them could be deadly. This could just be a trap set up by Cato and Clove. I don't know how they could have found me, but then I remember the bloodstains I left on the rocks nearby. They probably have a good indication from that. However, I remind myself this  _could_  also be Katniss. She could be here to save me and keeping my eyes closed isn't going to help me find out. This thought in mind, I open them a fraction. And smile.

"You here to finish me off, sweetheart?" I ask.

My voice is weak and hoarse. I can barely understand myself, but Katniss clearly heard me because she whips around, trying to find me. She doesn't know I'm practically beneath her feet. I keep my eyes open only slightly, wondering if I've hidden myself well enough that she can't see me at all. Who knew that my real test would come with the girl who is now my ally?

"Peeta?" she whispers. "Where are you?" I don't answer. It's an effort to do anything. I have to regain some of my breath. I didn't realize just how weak I've become. How is it that it's difficult for me to speak not?

"Peeta?" Her voice is much closer now. I snap my eyes open and to keep her from breaking my wrist, I say quickly, "Well, don't step on me."

I hear her jump back. She's staring right at me and when I open my eyes, she gasps. I laugh out loud for the first time in ages. Apparently I concealed myself as well as I hoped to. The look on her face tells me that much. I can't help thinking that maybe I should have done this during my personal session with the Gamemakers instead of throwing weights around the room. If I'm as well hidden as Katniss' face suggest, then maybe I would have gotten a twelve for my ability to make myself unseen.

"Close your eyes again," Katniss says. I do as she asks, closing my mouth as well. There's a moment of silence as she takes me in before she adds, "I guess all those hours of decorating cakes paid off."

"Yes, frosting" I say, smiling, my eyes still closed, my voice full of exhaustion. "The final defense of the dying."

"You're not going to die," she tells me, sounding completely serious.

"Says who?" I ask. It's hard to hide how tired and weak I am. Surely she can see that I'm not long for this world. I've got a few hours, maybe a few days tops. Clearly, she doesn't know how badly I'm wounded.

"Says me. We're on the same team now, you know," she replies.

I open my eyes. "So, I heard," I respond. "Nice of you to find what's left of me."

She pulls out her water bottle and gives me a drink. It's only now I realize how thirsty I've been. Surprising how I haven't died of thirst yet when I haven't had anything to drink in two days. "Did Cato cut you?" she asks, taking her bottle away.

So she has heard. I wonder who from. If she met up with the Careers at all, Cato probably couldn't stop himself from bragging.

"Left leg. Up high," I answer.

"Let's get you in the stream, wash you off so I can see what kind of wounds you've got," she tells me.

"Lean down a minute first," I say. "Need to tell you something." Once she's done so, I whisper so softly that I'm not even sure I've spoken, "Remember, we're madly in love, so it's alright to kiss me anytime you feel like it."

She pulls her head back instantly and bursts out laughing. "Thanks. I'll keep that in mind." I smile. I can see in her eyes that she's relieved I can still joke with her, but when she starts trying to help me into the stream, all humor fades from both our faces. The water is only two feet away and I know we're both thinking it can't be that hard to get me to it. That's until we learn I can't move at all by myself. I was right when I thought I would be unable to move at all once I buried myself in the mud. She tries to drag me to the stream, but as hard as I try to stay silent, I can't stop myself from crying out in pain. Staying still for so long hasn't done anything good for my body at all. She realizes at the same time I do that the mud and plants have become a sort of prison for me, but I'm unprepared for the excruciating tug she gives me, tearing me from their clutches. Despite all of our efforts, I'm still two feet from the water. Not that I can see that. My eyes are shut tightly, my teeth gritted and I can feel tears trailing down my face, washing away the thin layer of mud on my cheeks.

"Look, Peeta, I'm going to roll you into the stream," she says, her voice gentle, letting me know that this is most likely going to be relatively painful. "It's very shallow here, okay?"

"Excellent," is all I'm able to choke out in response.

She crouches down next to me. "On three," she says. "One, two, three!" She only rolls me once and, though I wish she would have pushed me all the way into the water, I'm glad she didn't. I was right when I thought her tender voice suggested agony was to follow. Not that she's to blame. It's my fault for encasing myself in mud and plants for two and a half days straight. My entire body aches because my joints are now stiff.

"Okay, change of plans," she says. "I'm not going to put you all the way in." This is probably a good idea. The water isn't flowing very quickly, but with how weak I am, there's a good chance she may be unable to get me back out.

"No more rolling?" I ask before I can stop myself.

"That's all done," she assures me. "Let's get you cleaned up. Keep an eye on the woods for me, okay?" It's confusing as to why she needs me to watch things around us when she's the hunter, but I don't question it. I only watch as she pulls out two water bottles and a water skin. She props two against some rocks, so they are constantly filling, while she pours the third over me. The cool water feels wonderful against my skin and she pours it over me again and again and again until she has gotten enough mud off of me to reveal my clothes. Once she does so, she unzips my jacket, and unbuttons my shirt. If we were under different circumstances I might be worried I'd be getting too excited she was stripping me, but we're in the arena in the Hunger Games and I'm too injured and ill to be nervous my body might do something that will embarrass me.

She carefully eases off my shirt and jacket before cutting away my undershirt. I didn't realize it was plastered to my skin. She has to pour several more bottles of water over me to work it loose. Once she's done so, she sees the burn on my chest. I stare at it, realizing it never fully healed and now that it's exposed to the sun, instead of under a layer of cool mud, it's beginning to ache again. My tracker jacker stings are doing the same and the bruises that cover my upper body make me want to groan. They've only worsened because I've been so still.

Somehow, she manages to prop me up against a boulder and before my wounds can bother me too badly, she's treating them. She digs the stingers out of my tracker jacker wounds and I wince. I should have had the good sense to pull them out myself, but I only think about the pain for a moment before she's applying the leaves to my skin. I let out a sigh of relief. She lays out my shirt and jacket, allowing me to dry before she returns to treat the burn on my chest. I wonder where she got the cream. Her faces changes as she applies it and I notice that she's realizing I'm burning with fever. She turns away the minute she's finished with my chest to dig for something in her pack. She returns a minute later with pills in her hand.

"Swallow these," she tells me and I do. "You must be hungry."

"Not really," I respond, just now realizing that I didn't eat anything when I told myself I would a few days ago. "It's funny, I haven't been hungry for days." I think my stomach must just be playing tricks on me, but when she offers me a bit of meat I wrinkle my nose and turn away. Just the thought of putting something in my mouth makes my stomach churn.

"Peeta, we need to get some food in you," she tells me.

"It'll just come right back up," I warn, but when she offers me some bits of dried apple I eat it, only because I know if I don't she'll glare at me for the rest of the day. "Thanks," I say when I'm finished. "I'm much better, really. Can I sleep now, Katniss?" After everything that she's done, I'm exhausted and sleep sounds like the best idea I've had in ages.

"Soon," she promises. "I need to look at your leg first."

If she was careful with my chest, it's nothing compared to how gentle she is with my lower body. She unlaces my boots and takes off my socks so gingerly, even  _I'm_ wondering if my feet are going to fall apart. She inches my pants off of me and I dig my hands into the mud to keep myself from gasping when I see just how bad the wound in my leg has become. It's inflamed and there's pus as well as blood oozing out of it. I'm still bleeding? And I'm still alive? I must have a never ending supply of blood.

Once I'm done marveling over the appearance of my wound, I turn to Katniss and see she's trying her hardest not to look alarmed. If she was treating someone who didn't know her as well as I do, she might fool them into thinking she was perfectly alright, but I can tell that it's taking all her strength to keep her from bolting.

"Pretty awful, huh?" I say, trying to calm her.

"So-so," she lies, shrugging. She couldn't be a worse liar. "You should see some of the people they bring my mother from the mines." I believe that they're probably in a worse shape than I am, but I'm sure she clears out when they come in. Now she has no choice. Or at least she feels that way. She should leave me and save herself. "First thing is to clean it well."

I notice that Katniss has left my undershorts on. I wonder if she's worried I'd be uncomfortable with her seeing me naked, but I say nothing as she scoots a piece of plastic under me and begins to pour water over my wound. It doesn't seem to be getting better at all. In fact, it seems to just be getting worse. Like her, I keep my eyes away from the wound and notice a tracker jacker sting where I thought I didn't have one. No wonder my hallucinations were so bad. I was stung five times where Katniss was only stung three. I also have a few burns running up and down my legs. She treats my sting as well as these quickly before turning back to my leg. The look in her eyes gives away just how lost she is.

"Why don't we give it some air and then…" she trails off.

"And then you'll patch it up?" I ask, my voice soft. I feel sorry for her. She's more lost than I am. I've accepted the fact I'm going to die. Katniss on the other hand…she still has hope that I am going to live.

"That's right," she tells me. "In the meantime, you eat these." She hands me a few dried pear halves before going back to the stream to finish washing my clothes. I nibble on the food, but in the end just bury it in the mud. I hate wasting food, especially in here, but I know if I eat anything more I'll just retch up everything Katniss has given me and somehow that seems worse than attempting to eat these pears.

In a few moments, she comes back and tells me, "We're going to have to experiment some." I believe it. It's becoming more and more clear that, though her mother is healer, Katniss is not. Still, I say nothing as she sticks a bunch of green leaves in her mouth, chews them and then presses them to my leg. We both watch as pus runs down the sides, trying to stop our food from making a reappearance.

When it looks as though Katniss is going to vomit all over my leg, I whisper, "Katniss?" She turns to me and I mouth, "How about that kiss?"

She bursts out laughing. I have a vague idea as to why, but that doesn't stop me from asking, my voice laced with false innocence, "Something wrong?"

It actually turns out that there is. "I…I'm no good at this," she stammers. "I'm not my mother. I've no idea what I'm doing and I hate pus. Euh!" She groans, rinsing away the first round of leaves and applying the second. "Euuuh!" I don't blame her for being disgusted.

"How do you hunt?" I ask.

"Trust me. Killing things is much easier than this," she tells me. "Although for all I know, I am killing you."

"Could you speed it up a little?" I ask, before I can tell myself that's a bad thing to say.

"No. Shut up and eat your pears," she says. She hasn't realized I threw them away.

It takes three applications of the leaves to bring down the swelling in my leg. What seems to be about a bucket of pus leaks out of my skin and when all is said and done I can see that I was right. Cato did cut down to my bone. I just never saw that before. I don't see any nicks on the small bit of bone that is showing, but I don't examine it too closely. I don't want to admit it, but I am close to passing out from the exertion this has put on my body.

"What next, Dr. Everdeen?" I ask in an attempt to draw my attention away from the injury as well as the spinning in my head.

"Maybe I'll put some of the burn ointment on it. I think it helps with infection anyway. And wrap it up?" she says. She does this and once my leg is wrapped, it doesn't look as terrible as it did moments earlier. However, my undershorts look absolutely disgusting against the pure white cotton bandage. She must be thinking this too because a moment later, she tosses me a spare backpack and says, "Here, cover yourself with this and I'll wash your shorts."

"Oh, I don't care if you see me," I say to reassure her.

"You're just like the rest of my family," she says instead. "I care, all right?" She turns, surprising me, but I throw my undershorts at her and place the backpack strategically in front of my crotch as she begins to wash them.

"You know, you're kind of squeamish for such a lethal person," I say, smirking. "I wish I'd let you give Haymitch a shower after all." I don't mean this, but the thought of her trying to wash out mentor the way she is makes me chuckle. Then again, I didn't even strip him naked. I only stripped him down to  _his_  undershorts and laid him under a spray of water.

She wrinkles her nose, probably from the memory of that night, asking, "What's he sent you so far?"

"Not a thing," I say. I pause before I realize: he must have been sending her things. Unsurprising really. Still, I ask, "Why, did you get something?"

"Burn medicine," she says, sounding sheepish. "Oh, and some bread."

"I always knew you were his favorite," I say bitterly.

"Please, he can't stand being in the same room with me," she retorts.

"Because you're just alike," I tell her. She doesn't respond, though I know she disagrees.

While she continues to clean my clothes I doze off. It feels so nice to rest after all that has happened within the past couple of hours. However, it feels as though I've only just closed my eyes when I feel someone shaking my shoulder. I open my eyes blearily as Katniss whispers, "Peeta, we've got to go now."

"Go?" I ask, confused. "Go where?"

"Away from here. Downstream maybe. Somewhere we can hide you until you're stronger," Katniss informs me. She helps me dress, though she stares at the woods in front of us, when helping me with my undershorts. I don't know why I expected anything different. This thought vanishes from my mind when she pulls me upright and I put pressure on my injured leg. "Come on," she encourages. "You can do this."

But I can't. At least not for very long. I don't know how far we get, but it isn't that far before I'm close to passing out. Katniss notices and has me sit down. She pushes my head between my legs, which is awkward to say the least, and pats my back. I wonder where she's thinking of leading me. Surely not up into one of her trees. She knows that she couldn't get me up there and even if she did, I'd probably fall out and break my neck. In the end, it turns out that wasn't even in the cards. She pulls me to my feet after a few moments and drags me a little farther downstream to what looks like a small cave. By this time, I'm panting and shivering. I know it can't be that cold out, but I'm freezing.

Katniss covers the floor of the cave in a thick layer of pine needles before unrolling her sleeping bag and tucking me into it. She manages to get a few more pills and some water into my system when I'm not really paying attention, but I refuse any more of her food. I watch as she tries to make a veil out of some vines. She seems to do a relatively good job, but she must be unsatisfied because she tears it down only seconds later, frustrated.

"Katniss," I say. She comes over to me and brushes my hair out of my eyes. I wish this were real. I wish more than anything this were real. "Thanks for finding me."

"You would have found me if you could," she reminds me. Something changes in her face for a moment. I don't know what it is that I see, but it's close to fear. I think it's fear anyhow. Why else would her eyes widen a fraction as she took in a shuddering breath? I ignore it because I know she doesn't like to be humbled.

"Yes," I say finally. "Look, if I don't make it back –"

"Don't talk like that," she cuts me off. "I didn't drain all that pus for nothing."

"I know. But in case I don't –" I try to continue.

"No, Peeta. I don't even want to discuss it," she says, placing her fingers on my lips. It's all I can do to keep myself from tenderly kissing them.

"But I –" I try to insist.

Out of nowhere, she kisses me. I never thought that she would ever kiss me in my entire life and, though I knew it was coming due to the fact that I set this whole thing up to begin with, I find that, even here in the arena, I didn't expect her to do this. My eyelids flutter shut and I can't stop my body from relaxing as her soft lips connect with mine. When she pulls away, she tugs the edge of the sleeping bag up around me, whispering, "You're not going to die. I forbid it. All right?"

"All right," I whisper back.

She leaves the cave. I don't know what to do, but the way she spoke to me only moments ago could have made me believe that she truly does love me, if I didn't know differently. I close my eyes and doze off again. Like the two times I've slept before, I have no dreams. I'm awakened only a few minutes later by Katniss saying in a tone that has false love covering every word, "Peeta!" She must think I'm still asleep because she kisses me until my eyes open. This startles me, but when I do finally look up at her, I smile. I could lie here and happily stare at her forever. She's so beautiful.

 _She doesn't know the effect she can have._ This is so true. So very, very true.

Cutting off my thoughts, Katniss holds up a pot and says, "Look what Haymitch has sent you."


	20. Sugar Berries

Seeing as I'm not hungry and feel as though I'll vomit up anything I put into my stomach, I don't make it easy for Katniss to get the broth into me. She begs, coaxes, threatens and kisses me to do it, but it still takes an hour to do so. She doesn't stop until I've emptied the pot. A part of me is grateful to her for taking such good care of me, but another part keeps wondering if I'm just going to end up revisiting this meal later.

Almost immediately after my dinner, I go to sleep. Again it is dreamless, but I'm used to it by now. I've accepted the fact I'm going to die. I'm just happy that I'm going to spend my last few days with Katniss. It's more than I could have hoped for, really. I thought I was going to die alone in the mud without comfort. Now I'm hoping that she'll sing me into my final sleep as well. I don't know if she'll sing me the same song she sang Rue, but I don't care what she sings. Her voice is angelic and if that is the last thing I hear before I die, then I will die happy.

The night must be very cold because when I awake in the morning, I'm still burning with fever, but I'm shivering slightly. I reach up to wipe off the sweat I'm sure has accumulated on my brow, but it's bone dry. That's when I realize how sick I truly am. If I can't even sweat, then I must be on the verge of death. I don't know what's keeping me alive at this point. Perhaps it's what Katniss did yesterday that is giving me the illusion of being better.

That's when I realize Katniss isn't there. I begin to panic. I whip my head around, but the cave is much too small for her to be hiding in it. She must have gone out. My stomach drops through the floor. What if Cato and Clove found her? They've probably been scouring the woods at night trying to find us or one of the other two remaining tributes. I don't know what time it is, which only scares me more. For all I know, Katniss could have gone out last night. She could already be dead and I didn't hear her cannon because I was sleeping.

I'm just struggling to sit upright when low and behold she enters the cave. I let out a sigh of relief, telling her, "I woke up and you were gone. I was worried about you."

She laughs, easing me back down. "You were worried about me?" she asks. "Have you taken a look at yourself lately?"

I know she's trying to be clever, perhaps pull a laugh out of me, but I'm still too shaken up to allow that to happen. I look into her eyes and add, "I thought Cato and Clove might have found you. They like to hunt at night."

"Clove? Which one is that?" she asks.

"The girl from District 2," I explain. "She's still alive, right?"

"Yes," Katniss says. "There's just them and us and Thresh and Foxface." Before I can ask who that is, she says, "That's what I nicknamed the girl from Five. How do you feel?"

"Better than yesterday," I admit. "This is an enormous improvement over the mud. Clean clothes and medicine and a sleeping bag…and you."

I tack on the last part for the audience, but also because it's true. I don't expect Katniss to react to this, but she reaches out and touches my cheek. I capture her hand in my own, holding it against my cheek for a moment before I press her knuckles to my lips. Living with my family, one would think that I hadn't picked up any romantic gestures and I haven't. At least not from my mother and father, but I go to the Hob enough to see couples there and I know what true love looks like and this is it. I don't think Katniss knows that, but the audience does and I do and that's all that matters.

"No more kisses for you until you've eaten," she tells me.

She props me up against the wall of the cave and I swallow as much of the berry mush that Katniss gives me. However, when she offers me the meat, my stomach roils and I refuse more out of the desire not to see my breakfast again than because I actually don't want it. I'm watching Katniss put away the meat when I see the dark circles under her eyes. She's been awake for too long. Going out on a limb I say, "You didn't sleep."

"I'm all right," she says, though we both know this is completely untrue.

"Sleep now. I'll keep watch. I'll wake you if anything happens," I tell her. When she hesitates I add, "Katniss, you can't stay up forever."

That gets her. She seems to realize that sleeping now while I'm feeling more well than I have in quite some time is a better idea than waiting until later when I'm once more wracked by fatigue and can barely keep my eyes open. "All right," she says, giving in. "But just for a few hours. Then you wake me."

I have no intention of doing so, which is why I say nothing when she smoothes out the sleeping bag before lying down. I smile when I notice how she places one hand on her bow, just in case. I stretch my bad leg out in front of me, trying to alleviate some of the pain as I stare out at the world. "Go to sleep," I whisper, brushing her hair away from her eyes. She relaxes as I do this and I don't stop stroking her hair until I know she's asleep.

She'll be angry with me later, but I allow Katniss to sleep well into the afternoon. I don't wake her and when she does finally open her eyes it's all on her own. She's much more alert now, that much I know, but she's frustrated that I allowed her to sleep so long. My suspicions are confirmed when she says, "Peeta, you were supposed to wake me after a couple of hours."

"For what?" I ask. "Nothing's going on here. Besides I like watching you sleep. You don't scowl. Improves your looks a lot."

Of course, she scowls now, but I only grin. Her eyes flicker to my dry lips and she asks me if I've been drinking. I say yes when the answer is no. She seems to know this and forces me to take several more fever pills as well as empty both the water bottles. Once finished she tends to my minor wounds. The more leaves she puts on my tracker jacker stings the better they feel. The same can be said for the burns. I don't know what ointment Haymitch sent her, but it's perfect. I can't stop myself from sighing in relief. I'm so relaxed that I almost don't notice her undoing the bandaging on my leg, but the moment I do I look down and sigh sadly. The sad sigh isn't for myself. As I said earlier, I've long since accepted that I'm going to die, but Katniss hasn't and when I see the increased swelling, the shiny inflamed skin, as well as the red streaks climbing up my thigh, signs of blood poisoning, I can't help feeling sorry for her. I wish she'd just accept my fate too. It'd be easier for both of us.

"Well, there's more swelling, but the pus is gone," she says, clearly trying to convince herself more than me that I'm going to be alright.

"I know what blood poisoning is, Katniss," I tell her. "Even if my mother isn't a healer."

"You're just going to have to outlast the others, Peeta," she says. "They'll cure it back at the Capitol when we win."

"Yes, that's a good plan," I say, but again this is for Katniss' benefit not my own. She must see in my eyes that I know I'm dying and there is nothing she can do to save me. Yet she keeps trying and I don't know why. I get the feeling if it was anyone else they would have long since given up and told me that they were going to make my death comfortable. At the moment, I think I would be more grateful for that than someone full of false hope.

"You have to eat. Keep your strength up. I'm going to make you soup," she informs me.

"Don't light a fire," I say instantly. "It's not worth it."

"We'll see," she responds.

She leaves the cave with the pot from the night before I lay back down on the sleeping bag, staring up at the stone ceiling. There are a few streaks of sunlight coming in through the cracks in the rock and, lifting weak fingers, I place them in the way of the streaks. They cause the light to do strange things, refracting in weird ways. I know a part of this has to do with my fever, but I can't help thinking that maybe the light really is that incredible. It's funny the things one notices about the world as they're dying. I feel as though I haven't seen anything in this universe now. I feel as though I'm finally beginning to understand it and now I'm leaving it.

Eventually, the light shines in my eyes and I move the sleeping bag over into the shade, so I won't be blinded by the sun. It shouldn't be that much effort to move a sleeping bag from one side of a cave to another, especially when the cave I'm in is so small, but it's exhausting and when I'm finished, I feel awful. My head is pounding, my stomach is churning and I don't know how I'm going to eat Katniss' soup.

A short while she returns. She seems to be able to tell how horrid I feel because she places cool clothes on my forehead, but they heat up almost instantly, giving me no relief from the burning coursing through my skin.

"Do you want anything?" she asks.

"No. Thank you," I say. Then I realize there is something that I want, something that only Katniss can give me. "Wait, yes. Tell me a story."

"A story? What about?" she asks. I know that the only times she ever tells stories is when her sister begs and this time my knowledge doesn't come from having sat under her window, listening to her do so, though I have heard her tell Prim a few stories when she's ill. This I know because of the look in her eyes when I mention the storytelling.

"Something happy," I say instantly. "The happiest day of your life."

She lets out a sigh of exasperation. Just like me, it's going to be difficult for her to come up with something that is happy. She hasn't had a cheerful life either, but I think she'll be able to come up with something more quickly than I would. I suppose if our roles were reversed I could tell her about one of the times my father helped me decorate a cake, but I don't think that would be good enough. Besides, I wasn't even that happy. I was only satisfied. Come to think about it, I don't know if I've ever been what someone would call "happy" by entire life.

"Did I ever tell you about how I got Prim's goat?" she asks. I shake my head and look at her, waiting for her to start the tale.

She says it was her sister's birthday. She went to the Hob with a silver locket of her mother's, which she sold and got a decent amount of money for. She was planning on buying some fabric for a dress, but just as she was testing some, she spotted a white goat with black patches lying in a cart that a man we call the Goat Man owns. She went over to him and inspected the goat. It was badly injured. It looked as though it had been mauled, she explained. She also told me that it was going to be sold to the butcher, who in the end practically gave the goat to Katniss and Gale, who was with her at the time. Of course the Goat Man was angry that the butcher didn't buy his goat, but Katniss got her goat after having haggled with the man over the price for quite some time. Evidently, she got it. She also bought a pink ribbon on the way home to tie around the little goat's neck. When she brought the animal into the house, her sister was beyond excited and with the help of her mother, they began to patch the animal up.

"They sound like you," I say, thinking of how she's been taking care of me.

"Oh, no, Peeta," she says. "They work magic. That thing couldn't have died if it tried."

She stops talking abruptly and I can tell from the way she bites her lip she's thinking about how I'm dying. I'm sure she blames herself for this, though there's nothing she could have done to begin with. I was all but dead when she found me. She's only prolonged my life by a small margin.

In an attempt to cheer her, I say, "Don't worry. I'm not trying. Finish the story."

"Well that's it," she tells me. "Only I remember that night, Prim insisting on sleeping with Lady on a blanket next to the fire. And just before they drifted off, the goat licked her cheek like it was giving her a goodnight kiss or something. It was already mad about her."

"Was it still wearing the pink ribbon?" I ask.

"I think so," she responds. "Why?"

"I'm just trying to get a picture," I say truthfully, looking into her eyes. "I can see why that day made you happy."

"Well, I knew that goat would be a little gold mine," she says.

"Yes, of course I was referring to that, not the lasting joy you gave the sister you love so much you took her place at the reaping," I say, my voice sounding uncharacteristically bitter.

"The goat  _has_  paid for itself. Several times over," Katniss elaborates, a hint of frustration coloring her words.

"Well, it wouldn't dare do anything after you saved its life," I say, my tone slightly more serious now. "I intend to do the same thing."

"Really? What did you cost me again?" she asks.

"A lot of trouble," I respond. "Don't worry. You'll get it all back."

"You're not making any sense," she says, pressing her hand to my forehead. "You're a little cooler though." She's lying, but I don't say anything. If she wants to kid herself into thinking I'm going to live through these Games, then fine.

Suddenly trumpets are blaring outside. She sticks her head out of the cave entrance and we both listen as Claudius Templesmith says there's going to be a feast tomorrow. At first, I'm not concerned that Katniss is going to go, but then he adds something else, something that makes my heartbeat quicken considerably, "Now hold on. Some of you may already be declining my invitation. But this is no ordinary feast. Each of you needs something desperately."

Medicine for my leg. That's what we need.

"Each of you will find that something in a backpack marked with your district number, at the Cornucopia at dawn. Think hard about refusing to show up. For some of you, this will be your last chance."

His voice has just faded away, when I'm leaning forward, gripping Katniss shoulder, saying in a fierce tone, "No. You're not risking your life for me."

"Who said I was?" she says.

"So, you're not going?" I ask, not believing her for a second.

"Of course, I'm not going. Give me some credit. Do you think I'm running straight into some free-for-all against Cato and Clove and Thresh? Don't be stupid," she says, forcing me back into the sleeping bag. "I'll let them fight it out, we'll see who's in the sky tomorrow night and work out a plan from there."

"You're such a bad liar, Katniss," I say the minute she's finished speaking. "I don't know how you've survived this long." Glaring, I begin to mimic her, " _I knew that goat would be a little gold mine. You're a little cooler though. Of course, I'm not going._ " I shake my head. "Never gamble at cards. You'll lose your last coin."

Her face is flushed with anger and I'm unsurprised when she shouts, "All right, I am going and you can't stop me!"

"I can follow you," I counter, meaning every word. "At least partway. I may not make it to the Cornucopia, but if I'm yelling your name, I bet someone can find me. And then I'll be dead for sure."

"You won't get a hundred yards from here on that leg," she retorts.

"Then I'll drag myself," I respond. "You go and I'm going, too."

I'm not sure if she knows it, but I would do exactly as I'm saying I would. She'd have to tie me down to stop me from leaving and the last time I checked she doesn't have any rope so that's not going to work. There isn't much she can do to keep me from following her. And if one of the others don't kill me, then the exertion from following her will. My body can only take so much more before it finally gives out.

"What am I supposed to do?" she asks, sounding lost. "Sit here and watch you die?"

She won't do this. Of that I am certain, but there is no way to save me. She has to realize that by now. I'm sure she has, but she's refusing to accept it. I wish she wouldn't. I wish she would just let me die in peace, no worries, but Katniss isn't like that. She doesn't make life easy for anyone, least of all those she cares about and even if she doesn't love me, I'm not oblivious enough to see that she does care for me, at least somewhat.

"I won't die," I say, though it's an utter lie. "I promise. If you promise not to go."

There's a short tense silence, but within that silence Katniss' shoulder slump and I know she's giving in. She's not going. I believe it all the more when she adds, "Then you have to do what I say. Drink your water, wake me when I tell you, and eat every bite of the soup, no matter how disgusting it is!" She's obviously angry at me for making her do this, but I'd rather her be angry than dead.

"Agreed," I say. "Is it ready?"

"Wait here," she responds. She exits the cave and comes back a few moments later with the pot. Even though my stomach asks me to do otherwise, I scrape the bowl clean, murmuring enthusiastically about how good it is all the while. I can tell she thinks this is the fever talking and, frankly, so do I, but it's helping my cause. The more excited I seem about doing as Katniss says, the happier she'll be.

Once I finish my food, she leaves again to wash the pot. She's gone much longer this time and I have a few moments to contemplate how I'm going to say goodbye to Katniss. I'm going to die. It's the when that's unpredictable. I'm inching closer to it with every passing minute. I want to do something for Katniss before I die to show her that my love for her is real, that it never was part of the Games, but I don't know what. I'm just beginning to brainstorm ideas, when she returns, holding out the bowl saying, "I've brought you a treat. I found a new patch of berries a little farther downstream."

My mouth opens for the first bite. I swallow and then frown slightly. "They're very sweet," I say. Almost too sweet. I didn't know such berries existed.

"Yes, they're sugar berries," she explains. "My mother makes jam from them. Haven't you ever had them before?" She practically forces the next spoonful in my mouth. Now I'm suspicious. What kind of berries is this sweet? And why does she want me to eat them so badly?

"No," I say. "But they taste familiar. Sugar berries?"

Maybe she is just sharing a treat with me. What else could it be? It's not like she has can do otherwise.

"Well, you can't get them in the market much, they only grow wild," she says as I swallow my third mouthful. There's only one left.

"They're sweet as syrup," I say, taking the last spoonful. "Syrup." That's when it dawns on me. She was given sleeping syrup. She mixed it in the berries. She's going to the feast after all. She had no intent of ever doing otherwise. I open my mouth to spit out the last bit, but she clamps her hand over my nose and closes my lips so I have to swallow. Once she pulls them away, I stick my fingers down my throat and try to throw them back up, but it's too late, the medicine is already taking me over.

I fall back against the sleeping bag. I stare at Katniss as darkness overtakes me, asking her over and over again with my eyes,  _Why are you doing this to me?_  She doesn't realize what's going to happen to me if she dies.


	21. The Feast

For the first time in what feels like a very long time, I dream. They are not the fantastical images of the past, but horrifying pictures of the present and the possible future. Ones that have me begging my body to wake me up. But it never does. The sleeping syrup that Katniss mixed into those berries is far too strong. I don't even thrash in my sedated state.

There are so many ways I watch Katniss die. Many of them are revistations of the tracker jacker hallucinations. The one that plays repeatedly is the ever recurring nightmare of her being tortured by the Careers, specifically Clove. I watch Clove cut her body to pieces after she strips her naked so her knives have better access to her olive skin. The knives draw intricate patterns in Katniss' flesh. They dig deep canyons in her thighs and rivers of blood pour down her legs, collecting in a pool at her feet. I beg for Clove to stop, but it's as though she can't hear me. I wish I couldn't hear Katniss' shrieks of pain.

Another that invades my consciousness is one of my mother beating me until I can no longer move. This is normal pain, something I can cope with, but I am stuck in nightmares and in nightmares there is no coping, there is only unimaginable agony from which there is no waking. When I become incapacitated due to the soreness enveloping my body, a knife appears in her hand and this time it's me who is being cut up. I'm certain my screams reach the Cornucopia. I'll be dead soon. Cato will find me and kill me, but at this point that would be a blessing, an act of mercy on his part, though he wouldn't know it.

Sometimes, in between the hellish reality I've been thrust into, I get moments of happiness. During one such moment, I am lying with my head in Katniss' lap. She's singing to me, whispering soothing words in my ear. For that moment, I am at peace. In fact, I believe it's real and she was too late to save me. She's singing me into death, like she did Rue. But whenever I close my eyes to die, I open them to find a new torture awaits me.

Agony consumes me at every turn. Most of it involves Katniss being hurt or dying before my eyes, me unable to do a thing to stop it. However, I am hurt just as many times as she is. Over and over and over. Soon, I begin to feel it will never end and when I open my eyes to another round of watching Katniss die, I accept this as a fact. I will be stuck in this hell forever.

At one point, Katniss hangs herself, but I can't figure out why. All I know is before she leapt off the tree branch, she was holding up a second noose, smiling at me, begging with her eyes for me to join her. But I don't and as I watch her plummet to her death, I wish I had done as she asked.

I get into a knife fight with my mother, but I can hardly fight back because I don't want to hurt her. Despite everything, she's still my mother. As a result, I am hurt repeatedly and I know I'm going to lose this fight. I stagger away from her, dodging her attacks over and over again, shouting at her to please stop. She doesn't listen and I'm so absorbed in my own thoughts that I don't notice her coming at me until it's too late. I try to move away, but she gets my upper arm, her blade sinking deep into my flesh. I only have time to scream before the world blackens.

In the darkness, I wait for the next chapter of the nightmare my life has become to begin. But it never does. I stay in the black world. I don't know how long I'm there. I scream to just hear something other than the silence because I know no one will respond to my pleas for salvation. In the end, I accept that this is the final phase of my torture. I am to be imprisoned, alone in the dark forever. I don't know which is worse: watching Katniss die over and over again or being so utterly alone.

Then I hear something. A dripping. It seems to be coming from a long way off at first, but the longer I listen, the closer it gets. Soon, it's right next to me and there's a light too. A dim light, but light nonetheless. I scramble towards it, eager to see the sun, feel it's warmth on my back. As I reach it, something else comes into focus: rocks. That's when I realize, I'm back in the cave, safe and sound.

Tears of relief roll down my cheeks before I can stop them. I'm so happy that the nightmares really were all just a dream that it takes me a minute to notice that I no longer have a fever and I feel better than I have in days, but once I do, I realize Katniss must have made it back from the feast alive.

It doesn't take long to find her lying face-down on the cave floor her head resting in a pool of blood that I can only assume came from the frighteningly large gash on her forehead. Instantly, I begin to panic, wondering if this is just another horror I must face. However, when I press my fingers to her neck, I feel the steady flow of blood coursing through her veins. For the second time in the past five minutes, I cry from relief.

Before I do anything else, I dig in Katniss' pack for the bandages she used to wrap my leg. I find them in no time at all and hastily wrap her head with the sterile white cloth. I don't like anything sterile. It reminds me far too much of the Capitol, but that doesn't matter right now. I have to keep Katniss alive and unless I stop the blood flowing from her forehead, she's going to die of blood loss right here after saving my life.

Once I'm sure her life is no longer on the line, I tuck her into the sleeping bag after taking off her shoes and socks, placing them in one of the few dry corners of the cave, hoping they won't be so damp when I go back for them. I spend the next ten minutes fixing the plastic she has over her, so none of the water gets on her, chilling her. Then I clean up the blood on the rocks. It's not hard to do, since there is water everywhere and I use a bit of bandage as a cloth. When I'm done with that, I place the pot under the place where the ceiling is leaking the most before sitting back against the wall, waiting anxiously for Katniss to wake.

Where such work would have tired me before, I feel only slightly winded. I'm praying that Katniss opens her eyes soon. I couldn't stand it if she died trying to save me. I told her not to risk her life for me and I meant it. That would be the absolute worst way she could have died. I don't think I'd be able to live with myself if that happened. As the thought runs through my mind, I have a bit more sympathy for Haymitch's drinking. It's clear he's been trying to kill himself all this time and I can't say that I wouldn't do the same if it was Katniss who had died for me in the arena. In fact, it wouldn't make much of a difference if she died for me or not. I would still be just as broken and still need an escape from the reality I was residing in.

Without thinking, I eat some of the groosling, as Katniss has called it, before I realize that I probably shouldn't be eating the rest of our food. I quickly wrap the rest of it up and throw it back into one of Katniss' packs before it can tempt me into eating any more. The sky darkens. Night comes. I look up into the sky when the anthem plays and see Clove's face. I wonder who killed her and how. I'm sure Katniss knows, but I won't ask until she's awake and well.

Glancing back towards Katniss, I caress her cheek and whisper, unable to keep the tremble out of my voice, "Wake up, Katniss. Please wake up."


	22. No Competition

Though I tell myself not to, I fall asleep, while looking after Katniss. I don't wake until late the next morning and I'm startled as well as slightly nervous to see that she hasn't awakened either. For the first time, I consider the possibility that she could actually be dead. I've thought about it before, but it has never been so prevalent in my mind until now. What if she does die? What am I going to die? Probably kill myself. I still have a knife. I can slit my wrists if need be. Just then Katniss begins to stir. I lean over her, I caress her cheek again, trying to wake her up even more. I can't watch her go back to sleep. I don't know if she'll wake again.

"Katniss," I whisper. "Katniss, can you hear me?"

Her eyes open. She looks startled for a moment as if trying to remember where she is and what's going on. I can hardly blame her, though this is still concerning. When I was near death, I always knew where I was. Well, there was one time I didn't, but for the most part I always knew that I was stuck in the Games. I knew I wasn't home. However, my injury wasn't a slice across my forehead either, so I suppose she has more cause to be forgetful than I did.

"Peeta," she mutters after a short silence.

"Hey," I respond. "Good to see your eyes again."

"How long have I been out?" she asks.

"Not sure," I reply truthfully. "I woke up yesterday evening and you were lying next to me in a very scary pool of blood. I think it's stopped finally, but I wouldn't sit up or anything."

I watch as she tentatively lifts one hand to her forehead. She moves her fingers across the bandage and I can tell even this makes her dizzy. Carefully cupping the back of her head, I lift it up a little to give her a drink. She gulps it down and I almost have to pull it away from her so she'll leave enough for me. Not that I should be too worried about getting water. It's pouring rain outside and if I want water all I'll have to do is stick the bottle out of the cave for a couple minutes before it's full.

"You're better," she says.

"Much better," I respond. "Whatever you shot into my arm did the trick. By this morning, almost all the swelling in my leg was gone."

She's probably wondering why I'm not yelling at her for what she did a day before. I'm angry, yes, but she's hurt and I'm not going to yell at an injured girl. She nearly died for me that's both the reason I'm upset as well as the reason I'm keeping my mouth shut. She doesn't know what it would do to me if she died, but that's not her fault. She thinks this is all just an act and I'm not going to pressure her into feeling otherwise.

"Did you eat?" she asks me.

I blush. "I'm sorry to say I gobbled down three pieces of that groosling before I realized it might have to last a while. Don't worry, I'm back on a strict diet."

"No it's good," she counters. "You need to eat. I'll go hunting soon."

"Not too soon, all right?" I say quickly. "You just let me take care of you for a while."

This being said, I feed Katniss and make her drink more than her fair share of water. I rub her feet until I think she can feel them again before I wrap them in my jacket. I tuck her back into the sleeping bag, pulling it up to her chin.

"Your boots and socks are still damp and the weather's not helping much," I explain. As if to emphasize my words, thunder rumbles outside, while lightning lights up the sky. Gazing outside, I smile to myself. To most people, the world looks much more harmful when it's raining this much, but I see peace, a short reprieve from the violence that has become my life. Not wanting Katniss to catch on to my thoughts, I say, "I wonder what brought on this storm? I mean, who's the target?"

"Cato and Thresh," she says instantly. "Foxface will be in her den somewhere and Clove…she cut me and then…" she trails off.

"I know Clove's dead. I saw it in the sky last night," I tell her. "Did you kill her?"

"No. Thresh broke her skull with a rock," she says.

"Lucky he didn't catch you, too," I say.

The look on her face when I say this tells me that there's more to the story than she's told me and before I have to ask what that is, she's telling me. "He did. But he let me go." Once she's done with that explanation, she tells me about how she blew up the food and lost the hearing in her left ear. She tells me about how Marvel killed Rue and how the people from District 11 sent her some of their bread. Finally, she ends with telling me that Thresh felt he was paying off a debt by letting her live.

"He let you go because he didn't want to owe you anything?" I ask, unable to hide my disbelief. It never occurred to me that someone might let another person because they felt they had to repay them. I let Katniss go because I wanted her to win, to stay alive, but Thresh let her go because he was paying her back for making Rue's death less painful. The more I think about it, the more I understand.

"Yes," she responds. "I don't expect you to understand it. You've always had enough. But if you lived in the Seam, I wouldn't have to explain."

"And don't try," I say instantly, feeling anger fill me at her condescending words. "Obviously I'm too dim to get it."

"It's like the bread. How I can never seem to get over owing you for that," she says.

"The bread? What?" I ask confused for a moment. Then I remember. "From when we were kids? I think we can let that go. I mean, you just brought me back from the dead."

"But you didn't know me," she protests. "We had never even spoken. Besides, it's the first gift that's always the hardest to pay back. I wouldn't even have been here to do it if you hadn't helped me then." She pauses, then adds, "Why did you do it anyway?"

I suppose I should have known this conversation was going to come up. With everything I've learned about Katniss, one of the main things is she doesn't let things go, at least not easily. Still, I thought she'd forgotten about that day. I thought she'd just taken the bread and moved on with her life. I didn't think that I'd helped her that much. I look away and stare down at my hands. In all the time I have been in love with Katniss, I've never gotten a chance to tell her how I feel about her and now she can know that this is all real. I find that I want to know, so I turn back to her saying, "Why? You know why." She shakes her head. This time it's her who doesn't fully understand. "Haymitch said you would take a lot of convincing."

"Haymitch?" she asks. "What's he got to do with it?"

What little hope that I'd had she would understand what I said vanishes when I see the genuine confusion in her eyes. She still thinks my love is just part of the Games. I don't know this for sure, but I think that if she did know what I meant, she wouldn't look so utterly perplexed. There is no dawning realization in her eyes and the longer I stare into them, the more I begin to understand that I'm hoping for something to appear that probably never will.

"Nothing," I say before the silence becomes too long. "So, Cato and Thresh, huh? I guess it's too much to hope that they'll simultaneously destroy each other?"

I expect laughter to appear in her eyes. I expect her to smile and see the confusion vanish, but instead sadness sets in and I know I've said something wrong. "I think we would like Thresh," she says softly. "I think he'd be our friend back in District Twelve."

"Then let's hope Cato kills him, so we don't have to," I say grimly without thinking.

In all actuality, I'm sick of all the killing. I'm tired of seeing faces in the sky every night. I don't want to watch or hear of anyone dying anymore. Turning away, I glare out the cave entrance, watching the rain pound the dirt. It isn't fair. Any of this. The Games. The deaths of innocents. Anything. A part of me wants to say that Katniss not loving me isn't fair either, but it's unfair of me to think that. It's debatably more unfair than everything else, so I push it from my mind the moment it enters it and turn back to Katniss.

I'm startled to find there are tears in her eyes and my expression becomes one of true concern as I whisper, "What is it? Are you in a lot of pain?"

Even as I speak the words, I know that's not what it is. There's so much more to it than that, especially when she whispers, sounding like a scared little girl, "I want to go home, Peeta."

"You will," I say. "I promise." I lean down and kiss her. It's not the kiss I want, not the kind of kiss that I will ever have, but I'll have to be satisfied with what I can get and I am. This is more than I could have ever asked for, really. I'm so grateful that I no longer have to worry about Katniss. She's going home with me.

"I want to go home now," she says, interrupting my thoughts.

"Tell you what," I respond. "You go back to sleep and dream of home. And you'll be there for real before you know it. Okay?"

"Okay," she whispers. "Wake me if you need me to keep watch."

"I'm good at rested, thanks to you and Haymitch," I say. "Besides, who knows how long this will last?"

I don't explain my words because I don't even know what they mean. The storm? The temporary lack of violence in both of our lives? The Games? Thankfully Katniss doesn't ask, but I can tell from the way she looks at me before she drifts off that she's wondering what exactly I mean by this too.

It's evening when I decide to wake Katniss. I let her sleep through the day because I know she needed it. I watched the rain pouring outside. I hear the mockingjays calling to one another through the downpour. I close my eyes and drift off myself for a while. I don't know how long I sleep, but it's long enough to worry me. My stomach rumbles and hastily wake up Katniss, wanting to eat. Once she's up we sort through the food. There isn't much left. Two pieces of groosling, a small pile of roots and an equally small handful of the dried fruit.

"Should we try and ration it?" I ask, thinking we have no choice in doing otherwise.

"No, let's just finish it," Katniss responds. "The groosling's getting old anyway, and the last thing we need is to get sick off spoiled food." Without another word we divide the food amongst ourselves. I don't know if Katniss is trying to eat slowly, but I am. However, in the end I don't do a very good job with this and, just like her, I'm finished with my meal in only a couple of minutes, my stomach still begging me for more.

"Tomorrow's a hunting day," Katniss announces.

"I won't be much help with that," I tell her. "I've never hunted before."

"I'll kill and you cook," she responds. "And you can always gather."

"I wish there was some sort of bread bush out there," I say wistfully only half joking.

"The bread they sent me from District Eleven was still warm," she says, letting out a soft sigh. "Here, chew these." She has me some leaves. I think they're the same ones as what she used on my tracker jacker stings, so I'm unsure why she's giving them to me to chew on, but when she puts some in her own mouth I don't question it.

When the anthem plays, we both look out of the cave to see that there were no deaths today, though it's hard to make out through all the rain. Cato and Thresh are still alive.

"Where did Thresh go?" Katniss asks. "I mean, what's on the far side of the circle?"

"A field," I recall. "As far as you can see it's full of grasses as high as my shoulders. I don't know, maybe some of them are grain. There are patches of different colors. But no paths."

"I bet some of them are grain," she says. "I bet Thresh knows which ones, too. Did you go in there?"

"No," I say instantly. "Nobody really wanted to track Thresh down in the grass. It has a sinister feeling to it. Every time I look at that field, all I can think of are hidden things. Snakes, and rabid animals, and quicksand." I shudder. "There could be anything in there."

She doesn't say anything, but I know Katniss is thinking of how she goes into the woods near District 12 everyday and, just because I know she's contemplating it too, I wonder how I would feel going into those woods. Would they be just as frightening to me as that field or would they be just as welcoming as they are to Katniss? I've never given them much thought before. I would stare at them out the window, of course, but I never thought about them too much in depth. They were always something I was advised to stay away from, something I couldn't go to. What Katniss does has always felt like something I could never do. Not just because I don't have any hunting skills, but because I live in the wealthier part of District 12 and for me to go hunting would be wrong when I already have so much.

"Maybe there's a bread bush in that field," Katniss says. "Maybe that's why Thresh looks better fed now than when we started the Games."

"Either that or he's got very generous sponsors," I counter. "I wonder what we'd have to do to get Haymitch to send us some bread."

Something about the silence that precedes this sentence unnerves me. I don't look at Katniss, but I feel somehow as though she knows something I don't. However, I say nothing. I don't know for sure and I'm not going to accuse her of anything when I don't have any real proof for my suspicions. This is still running through my mind when I feel Katniss take my hand. I can't help the way my heartbeat quickens at her touch. I wish it would stop that so I could get used to the fact the feeling will never be returned.

"Well, he probably used up a lot of resources helping me knock you out," she responds, a mischievous grin lighting up her face.

"Yeah, about that," I say, lacing our fingers together. "Don't try something like that again." I want to say so much more than this, but I don't know how to phrase it, so I don't speak. I'm not going to make a fool of myself in front of all of Panem.

"Or what?" Katniss asks, reminding me I may not have a choice.

"Or…or…" I scowl and curse myself for being unable to think of any reason that would be founded. "Just give me a minute."

"What's the problem?" she says grinning.

"The problem is we're both still alive. Which only reinforces the idea in your mind that you did the right thing," I say. Really, I'm glad we're both still alive, but I don't say this. It wouldn't be a step in the right direction for my case.

"I did do the right thing," she says.

Perhaps it's the way she says this, so self-assured, so convinced that she's right or maybe it's just the memory of how she knocked me out to go save my life, but I explode. "No! Just don't Katniss!" I shout. My grip on her fingers tighten to the point I'm sure I'm hurting her. I can tell from her expression she can hear my anger and she knows I'm not faking this. "Don't die for me! You won't be doing me any favors! All right?"

I can tell by the way she looks at me that I've startled her. I certainly didn't mean to. I only want her to understand that I can't live without her. Much less if she died to save me. However, then she says something I never thought she would and everything changes.

"Maybe I did it for myself, Peeta, did you ever think of that? Maybe you aren't the only one who…who worries about…what it would be like if…"

Of all the things that she could have said, I was not expecting this. For the first time since the Games began, I allow myself to consider the possibility that Katniss loves me too. It's ridiculous and I don't know how this could ever be real, but it's only now that I realize she could have knocked me out and gone to the feast not only to save my life, but because the thought of losing me would destroy her as completely as it would destroy me if she died.

Still, just as before, I don't know for certain and this I cannot afford to misinterpret, so I swallow and whisper, "If what Katniss?"

There's something about the silence that follows that makes me think what she's going to say next has more importance than I could ever imagine and, in a way, it does, but for the most part it's nothing significant.

"That's exactly the kind of topic Haymitch told me to steer clear of," she responds. Something happens in that moment and I feel as though I have to help her say what she needs to. I am still assuming things. I still don't know anything for certain, but I'm never going to know if I just keep waiting for her to speak. It's for this reason, I move closer to her as I say, "Then I'll just have to fill in the blanks myself."

Of all the kisses we've had previously, this is the first one that really means something. This is the first one where I am able to fully appreciate her soft lips, the gentleness of her touch, the way she sighs softly, almost contentedly when our lips first connect.

When I pull away, I notice that the bandage around her head seems to have a brighter red seeping into it. I lean forwards, kissing her lightly on the nose, saying, "I think your wound is bleeding again. Come on, lie down, it's bedtime anyway."

I give Katniss her socks back since, for the most part, they're dry. In turn, she forces me to put my jacket back on. For this I'm thankful. Though I've been doing a good job disguising it, I've been freezing all day. This is why when Katniss tells me she'll take the first watch I tell her to lie in the sleeping back with me. She's shivering terribly and I pull her closer in an attempt to keep her warm. I also give her one of my arms to use as a pillow. I use the other to lay over her. She can handle herself, I know that, but she's so small I still feel the need to protect her.

Though there is much on my mind, I drift off almost instantly. Unlike the nightmares I had earlier, now my dreams are nothing short of happiness. They only end when Katniss shakes me away and by looking at her for only a moment I'm glad she did. She looks exhausted.

"Tomorrow, when it's dry, I'll find us a place so high in the trees we can both sleep in peace," she promises me as she falls asleep.

Now that I'm awake, the thoughts that filled my head a few hours earlier can be properly examined. Though the kiss between Katniss and I felt so wonderful and real, I can't help wondering if that was only for the audience. However, the more I think about it and what she said, the more I begin to believe that the acting is over. Somehow, Katniss has fallen in love with me as well. It's too much to hope for. It's too good to be true, but as I think over the past several days, I begin to believe more and more that she does. The thing that most convinces me of his is how she talked about leaving for the feast, the way she spoke of what Haymitch told her not to. Could she truly not live without me?

These thoughts run through my head over and over, until Katniss wakes up. It's still raining heavily and I know her promise to find us a hiding place in the trees is going to be broken. Despite this, I offer to go out in the downpour to see if I can find us something to eat, but she tells me not to with the argument that I won't be able to see and I'll be soaked through the skin for my efforts. She's right, but our stomachs are beginning to digest themselves from lack of sustenance.

We spend the day lying in the sleeping bag, trying to soak up each other's warmth. We don't say much, mostly because there isn't much to say. As evening approaches, thoughts that Katniss may truly be in love with me return. Today is giving no further proof of this, however. In fact, my hope is dwindling. Wouldn't she have said something by now if this were true? Maybe not, but I wish that she would just so I could stop wondering.

The minute this thought leaves my mind, she pipes up, saying, "Peeta, you said at the interview you'd had a crush on me forever. When did forever start?"

"Oh, let's see. I guess the first day of school," I respond. The day comes clear into my mind. I'll never forget it. Not for as long as I live. Especially not now. "We were five. You had on a red plaid dress and your hair…it was in two braids instead of one. My father pointed you out when we were waiting to line up."

"Your father?" she asks. "Why?"

"He said, 'See that little girl? I wanted to marry her mother, but she ran off with a coal miner,'" I say, smiling slightly as I remember the way my father had said it.

"What? You're making that up!" she accuses.

"No, true story," I insist. "And I said, 'A coal miner? Why did she want a coal miner if she could've had you?' And he said, 'Because when he sings…even the birds stop to listen.'"

"That's true," Katniss replies, her voice soft. "They do. I mean, they did." From the look on her face, I wonder if it was really a good idea to bring this up. I know she misses her father. She nearly died after her father did because her mother didn't have a job and she had nothing to eat. That's why she started hunting and that's also why I burned the bread for her. However, her face returns to a mask of calm a moment later, so I decide to continue.

"So that day, in the music assembly, the teacher asked who knew the valley song. Your hand shot right up in the air. She stood you up on a stool and had you sing it for us. And I swear, every bird outside the windows fell silent," I say.

"Oh, please," she says, laughing.

"No, it happened. And right when your song ended, I knew – just like your mother – I was a goner," I say. "Then for the next eleven years, I tried to work up the nerve to talk to you."

"Without success," she puts in.

"Without success," I repeat, nodding. "So, in a way, my name being drawn in the reaping was a real piece of luck." I don't mention how I would have volunteered for anyone else who had been drawn so I could protect her.

This is all true. I haven't made any of it up. I have no reason to. I have loved her all this time. There has always been something about her that has drawn me to her. She has a beautiful smile when she chooses to use it. She has a lovely laugh. She is so kind and protective of her sister. It's so wonderful to see. If I didn't know that she would never do it, I would say she'd be the perfect mother. Which she would be. She's just never going to have children. And for good reason. Though I feel as though I would want them someday, I know it wouldn't be a good idea to have them. Not now, not ever.

"You have…a remarkable memory," she says.

"I remember everything about you," I say, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "You're the one who wasn't paying attention."

"I am now," she responds.

"Well, I don't have much competition here," I say, shrugging in acceptance.

There's a short silence and then something happens, something that changes everything. Something that makes my heart skip a beat, something that convinces me once and for all of what has been on my mind for the past few days.

"You don't have much competition anywhere."

This it's Katniss who leans in and I know that all of my suspicions are being confirmed. She  _does_ love me. She  _can't_  live without me. This isn't too good to be true. This is really happening. My heart swells and I feel as though I could cry from the happiness that seeps through me. It's coursing through my veins, the love I feel for her. Our hearts are beating as one now and they will forever because I love her and she loves me back and there is no reason for me to believe otherwise. From here on out, everything that happens between us won't be fabricated and maybe it never was. Perhaps Portia was right and she loved me from the beginning. In any case it doesn't matter now. Now we're together and we will be always.

A clunk outside the cave pulls us apart. Before I can react, Katniss has her bow up and ready. There isn't another sound, but I still look outside to be sure. I'm given a pleasant surprise. There is a silver parachute sitting at the cave's entrance. When I peek inside, I nearly moan with longing. However, I hold back until I get back to Katniss. She tears it open and I take in the feast. Fresh rolls, goat cheese, apples and even a tureen of the lamb stew on a bed of wild rice Katniss loves so much. I smile at the memory of her telling Caesar Flickerman that the best thing about the Capitol was this dish.

I pull myself deeper into the cave, still smiling like an idiot, not only from the food, but from what happened before. "I guess Haymitch finally got tired of watching us starve," I say.

"I guess so," she says.

There is nothing more for me to say. I don't know if there's anything else I  _want_  to say. The only thing I want to do is kiss her, hold her and show her how much I love her, so she has no doubt that this isn't fake. I want her to know that this is just as real for me as it is for her. I can't live without Katniss Everdeen, the girl on fire and now, I'll never have to.


	23. Hunting Day

The food looks twice as good as it did when I first saw it on the Capitol train. There is nothing I want to do more than stuff my face and, when I glance over at Katniss, I can tell that's what she wants to do too. However, that probably isn't a good idea, so before she can start, I say, "We better take it slow on that stew. Remember the first night on the train? The rich food made me sick and I wasn't even starving then."

"You're right," Katniss says, her tone giving away her disappointment. "And I could just inhale the whole thing!" She doesn't. And neither do I. We serve ourselves small portions of stew, half an apple and a roll. Luckily, we were also sent silverware and plates so our feast isn't as messy as it might have been otherwise. I eat as slowly as I can, wanting to savor every bite. I don't know when I'm going to be able to have food like this again. It could be never. "I want more," Katniss says once she's done.

"Me, too," I respond. "Tell you what. We wait an hour, if it stays down, then we get another serving."

"Agreed," she says. "It's going to be a long hour."

"Maybe not that long," I say remembering what just happened a short time earlier. "What was that you were saying just before the food arrived? Something about me…no competition…best thing that ever happened to you."

"I don't remember the last part," she says. I know she's trying to hide it, but she's blushing. The darkness in the cave doesn't conceal that, but I think I'm the only one who picks that up. The rest of Panem doesn't.

"Oh, that's right. That's what  _I_ was thinking," I say. I knew that, but I only added it in because I wanted to let her know that's this is what this is. This is the best thing that's ever happened to me.  _Katniss_  is the best thing that ever happened to me. She's perfect in every way I can think of. Her imperfections make me love her all the more. However, that isn't currently at the forefront of my mind. "Scoot over. I'm freezing."

She does as I ask and we lean against the cave wall, her head on my shoulder, my arms wrapped protectively around her. I think she understands now that this means I must protect her even if she doesn't want protecting. If I never did anything to keep her safe, I would feel like a failure. I'm so lost in thought that I barely hear her say, "So, since we were five, you never even noticed any other girls?"

"No, I noticed just about every girl," I say truthfully. "But none of them made a lasting impression but you."

"I'm sure that would thrill your parents, you liking a girl from the Seam," she says.

"Hardly," I respond, remembering how my mother reacted when she found out. "But I couldn't care less. Anyway, if we make it back, you won't be a girl from the Seam, you'll be a girl from Victor's Village."

If we win, we'll both get a house there. Katniss with her family and me with mine. Unlike her, I'm not looking forward to this. When we go home, the only thing that will have changed in my life is I now have Katniss and I live somewhere else, but my mother will still be the same I'm sure. She won't see me in a different light even if I win. She'll still see me as her screw up of a son that never amounted to anything, the boy that was in love with a girl from the Seam all his life and never was good enough.

"But then, our only neighbor will be Haymitch!" Katniss bursts out, interrupting my thoughts for the second time in the past ten minutes.

"Ah, that'll be nice," I say, my hold on her tightening. "You and me and Haymitch. Very cozy. Picnics, birthdays, long winter nights around the fire retelling old Hunger Games tales."

"I told you he hates me!" she exclaims, but she's laughing and I am too. The thought of Haymitch being our new best friend is quite amusing.

"Only sometimes," I shrug. "When he's sober, I've never heard him say one negative thing about you."

"He's never sober!" she says.

"That's right," I respond, grinning mischievously, biting back laughter. "Who am I thinking of? Oh, I know. It's Cinna who likes you. But that's mainly because you didn't try to run when he set you on fire. On the other hand, Haymitch…well, if I were you, I'd avoid Haymitch completely. He hates you."

"I thought you said I was his favorite," she says.

"He hates me more," I explain, remembering the day I told her the opposite of what I just did. "I don't think people in general are his sort of thing."

After saying this, I can't help wondering what's going on in the Control Room right now. No doubt Caesar Flickerman has him onstage, trying to get him to spill all the gory details about us. He'll most likely be giving unsavory answers that won't help us in the slightest. Although, considering how things have been going so far, I'm pretty sure that no one would believe him if he did say such things or they would think he was joking. In fact, the more I think about it, the more I realize that there isn't really a chance he would say anything bad about us. He told us to stay alive and I don't think he would have said that if he wanted us to die. You can never tell with Haymitch. He's a lot like Katniss in that way. He doesn't let his emotions show.

Now my thoughts drift back to her and I smile. Is this really truly happening? Or am I still asleep? Maybe I am. Maybe Katniss is still at the feast and I'm still lying in the cave dying and after all the nightmares I endured, I'm finally allowed the perfect dream. Either that or I did die and now I'm in heaven. Every fantastical possibility that pops into my mind is ridiculous and each one is more unlikely than the last. I give a mental chuckle. I wonder if Katniss will be able to handle my silliness. I'm a hopeless romantic. I always have been and she knows that now, but will she be able to handle that? Probably. She seems to enjoy it. Or at least as far as I've noticed.

"How do you think he did it?"

I'm startled back into the present instead of the future by her words. I blink and turn to her, asking, "Who? Did what?"

"Haymitch. How do you think he won the Games?" she asks.

That's actually a good question. He's not particularly good-looking, so sponsors were probably something he didn't have. He's not physically fit, though this is now. Maybe he was years ago, but not anymore. There is no way he had an ally. They never would have gotten along and he probably would have ended up killing them in the end anyway. Really there's only one way that he could have won.

"He outsmarted the others," I say.

Up until now I've never given much thought to how Haymitch won, but now that I have I wonder if he started drinking when he got out of the Games. It would make sense. I don't know what it was that he saw in the arena, but I have seen things that make me question whether or not drinking away the pain is such a bad idea. I guess I can understand him better now. The images from the Hunger Games terrified him, so he began to drink and then when he began mentoring and every year the children would die…that must be when it got unbearable. I don't think he was always constantly drunk, but after having to watch the children he was supposed to be trying to save die gruesome deaths every single year…I think that would break anyone, even someone as tough as Haymitch.

Out of the time we allotted to wait to eat again, it's only been half of that, but Katniss and I can't stand to wait any longer. While she gives us two more servings of exactly what we had before, I press my eye to a crack in the rocks as the anthem begins to play. I don't expect to see anything, but I'm wrong. My eyes widen and I whisper, "Katniss."

"What? Should we split another roll too?" she asks.

"Katniss," I say again, still quiet.

"I'm going to split one, but I'll save the cheese for tomorrow," she says. I turn, staring at her. "What?"

"Thresh is dead," I say.

"He can't be," she responds.

"They must have fired the cannon during the thunder and we missed it," I explain.

"Are you sure? I mean, it's pouring buckets out there. I don't know how you can see anything?" she says. She pushes me aside, pressing her eye to the crack I did. From the look on her face, I know that she sees his face just as it's disappearing. It's still blurry from the immense amount of rain, no doubt, but it's there.

She slumps down against the rocks. She look on her face is one of shock and I don't know why. Personally, I'm glad it was Cato that killed him, so we don't have to. I believe Katniss when she says that he was a good person, someone she could trust. Besides, I haven't killed a single person throughout the course of the Games and I want to keep it that way. Even if I was considering it, I was not going to start with Thresh.

"You all right?" I ask Katniss.

She shrugs, cupping her elbows in her palms. I know she's trying to hide her sadness, her anger at the Capitol for what they make us do. However, I know the purpose for her pain now. She's upset because Thresh spared her. He spared her because she'd been allies with Rue. She'd sung Rue into death and Thresh had been thankful for that. I wouldn't know for certain. I didn't see his face, but if he let Katniss live, then he must have been at least somewhat glad she did what she did.

"It's just…if we didn't win…I wanted Thresh to. Because he let me go. And because of Rue." Her words confirm my thoughts.

"Yeah, I know," I say softly. "But this means we're one step closer to District Twelve." I hand her one of the plates of food. "Eat. It's still warm."

She takes the food with reluctance and I can tell as she puts the first bite into her mouth, it's hard for her to eat right now. I don't mention this though. She clearly doesn't want her emotions revealed, so I'll keep them to myself. "It also means Cato will be back hunting us," she says almost as an afterthought.

"And he's got supplies again," I add.

"He'll be wounded, I bet," she says.

"What makes you say that?" I ask.

"Because Thresh would never have gone down without a fight," she explains. "He's so strong, I mean, he was. And they were in his territory."

"Good," I respond, returning to my food. "The more wounded Cato is the better. I wonder how Foxface is making out."

"Oh, she's fine," Katniss says, sounding upset, though I don't know why. "Probably be easier to catch Cato than her."

"Maybe they'll catch each other and we can just go home," I say. It's a foolish hope and it makes no sense, but I can still dream about it. I don't want to fight anymore. I don't want to be forced to kill. Even if it's Cato. "But we better be careful about the watches," I add quickly. "I dozed off a few times."

"Me too," she admits. "But not tonight."

Since she seems tired, I offer to take the first watch. We burrow back down in the sleeping back. She presses herself against me, pulling her hood up. I don't ask why because I know. Privacy isn't something you can get in the Hunger Games and the only way she can get it, if only slightly is by hiding her face. I wish I could hide mine as well, but I have to be strong. I have to protect Katniss. Where being weak for Katniss means she can't allow anyone in Panem to see, being weak for me means I can't even allow myself to feel it. This is no act for sponsors or anything of that sort. This is me keeping the girl I love alive.

Hours pass and when I find myself getting both hungry and sleepy, I break a roll in half, cover it with goat cheese and an apple slice before I wake up Katniss, offering her one as well. "Don't be mad," I say though I'm not entirely sure why. "I had to eat again. Here's your half."

"Oh good," she says instantly, taking the roll from my hand. She must think it's as good as I do because she looks very pleased. "Mm."

"We make a goat cheese and apple tart at the bakery," I say.

"Bet that's expensive," she says.

"Too expensive for my family to eat," I say laying down in the sleeping bag. "Unless it's gone stale. Practically everything we eat is stale." I haven't closed my eyes for even half a minute before I'm asleep.

The dream I have during the few hours of escape from the Games is the best I've ever had in my entire life. I can't remember a time being more at peace than when I am in this dreamland. I open my eyes in that world to find myself lying in a field of flowers. There are trees spread throughout. There is a pleasant wind blowing, and the flowers around me wave in it. The leaves rustle in the trees and wisps of my hair are gently blown off of my forehead. For a moment I close my eyes again, allowing myself to enjoy this beautiful place. I don't think this is real, but everything is so vivid that I don't see how it can't be.

There is a gentle hand on my cheek. I open my eyes again and see Katniss above me. She's smiling, her eyes are sparkling and she is in a simple yellow sundress. The sleeves are small, barely there. The outfit could almost be revealing, but the way the fabric is placed makes me think that was never the intention. I notice she's barefoot and I am too. Of course, in a place as beautiful as this, we really don't need shoes. We don't have to worry about stepping on things that might hurt us. This is Heaven. I'm sure of it. No other place could be so beautiful. Does this mean that Katniss and I are both dead? I push away the thought. Only a short while ago I thought I'd died and gone to Heaven. I don't think someone could have murdered both of us between now and then. Besides, Katniss has a bow and arrows now. I'm not worried about our safety.

I pull myself out of my thoughts and immerse myself in the moment. I place my hand atop Katniss', turning my head slightly and closing my eyes as I kiss her palm. I reach up, gently stroke her cheek. She leans into my touch and I smile. Then she's leaning down and our lips are connecting. Unlike every kiss before this one, she doesn't pull away after a few moments. She only keeps our lips locked and soon I've run my fingers up into her hair, holding her in place.

Before I can fully comprehend what's happening, her hand is running up under my shirt, tracing the contours of my chest. She does this for a little while, then slowly pulls her hand away and tugs at the end of the fabric. She lifts it slightly and I know what she wants. I don't hesitate to sit up and take off my shirt. Once it's been discarded, thrown somewhere among the flowers, I kiss her again, pressing my hand to her cheek. She wraps her arms around my neck and this time there is a feverishness to our kissing. We are desperate for each other's touch. It's almost as though we're afraid one of us is going to disappear or run off and we'll be alone again, but I have no intention of doing that. None at all. I'm here with Katniss in a field of flowers. I don't know what more I could possibly want or  _ever_  want. I could stay here with her forever and I would be the happiest man alive.

She guides my hand that is resting on her back to the zipper on her dress. She tugs at it and I know she wants me to do the same. I don't hesitate. She slips the beautiful outfit off, but right now, neither of us care that it is beautiful, so we toss it among the flowers as we did my shirt. I watch the lovely dress fly over to some other part of the field before I turn back to Katniss and realize, for the first time that, though I am still have my pants on, she's only in a bra and underwear now. I also realize only now what it is she is implying we do and a part of me doesn't want to. I fear I might get her pregnant and then where would we be? I can't bring a child into this world, not when I know that someday they could be taken out of my hands and placed in an arena where they could be killed. However, when she leans in again and kisses me, her hands fumbling with my trousers, I don't protest. I kick them off and quickly undo the clasp on her bra. She tears off my underwear and I tear off hers and then, for just a moment, we stare at one another, taking each other in.

If I thought Katniss was beautiful before, she is stunning now. She was beautiful at our interviews. She was lovely at the opening ceremonies. Even in her tribute clothing she is still lovely, but now that I see her for who she really is with no clothes to hide behind, I realize for the first time that I will never love anyone else. She is beautiful. She is perfect and I can't stop myself from bending down to kiss her, my hands planted on either side of her to keep from crushing her with my weight. She's so small that I'm afraid if I'm not careful I'll hurt her. I know this was her idea, but that doesn't mean I am any less scared.

When I pull away, I kiss her chin, then her neck, her breasts, her stomach. I run my hand up and down the sides of her smooth skin. Soon I come back to her and kiss her on the lips once more, cradling her head in one of my hands. She wraps her arms around me and I know what I must do now. Still I am careful. I've heard this hurts women the first time and to my horror Katniss does cry out in pain. I wince and begin to move away, but she holds me in place. Her eyes saying with pure clarity,  _No. Stay_.

Making love is different than kissing someone you love. It's different than telling you that you love them. It's different than showing others just how much you care for them. Making love to someone you love is nothing short of pure assurance that you will never be with another person in your life. And that's what I'm thinking as I make love to Katniss. I'm gentle with her, never once being rough. I stroke her cheek. I kiss her lips. I cradle her head in one of my hands. I do everything I possibly can to let her know that I love her and I will never hurt her. Not once. I will protect her. I will keep her safe. Safe and sound.

When we finally pull away from one another, we stay apart for only a mine before we move back together. We don't resume our love making. Both of us are satisfied and only want to be in each other's arms. Katniss curls herself around me and I hold her close. Neither one of us put our clothes back on because there is no one here to see us. We are alone in this magical place and I don't want this moment to end.

But end it does. Someone shakes my shoulder and I open my eyes. I'm still tired and I want to go back to sleep. I want to reenter the world where happiness is a requirement, where there is no fear, no pain, but when my eyes focus, I see the girl that was just in my dreams. I know now that everything that happened was a dream, but it doesn't matter. It was a good dream, the best dream I've ever had and I can't stop myself from pulling her down for a long kiss.

"We're wasting hunting time," she says when she finally pulls away.

This, of course, ruins the moment, but I sit up and stretch, trying to regain that feeling of perfection by saying, "I wouldn't call it wasting." I glance at her, then add, "So do you hunt on empty stomachs to give us an edge?"

"Not us," she says. "We stuff ourselves to give us staying power."

"Count me in," I say. However, I'm surprised when Katniss divides everything we have left into two equal piles. The helping on my plate is the largest I've seen in a long time. It concerns me. It was awful feeling so hungry for days. There's no guarantee we'll get anything today anyhow. "All this?" I question.

"We'll earn it back today," she responds. I'm not convinced, but I eat everything on my plate. I notice when she gets to the bottom of her feast, Katniss wipes away the last bits of gravy with her finger. "I can feel Effie Trinket shuddering at my manners."

"Hey Effie, watch this!" I say. I toss my fork over my shoulder and begin licking my plate clean, making sure to make loud, satisfied noises as I do so. Once finished, I blow a kiss and call out, "We miss you Effie!" That's not a completely untrue statement. The more time I spent with her the days before the Games, I grew to like her more and more each day. I'm not going to say I would enjoy being around her consistently, but she's not bad company.

After I yell, Katniss covers my mouth with her hand, but she's laughing. "Stop! Cato could be right outside our cave."

I pull her hand away and smile. "What do I care?" I say. "I've got you to protect me now." I pull her up against me, wanting to feel her beside me, just for a moment to know that she's really here, and this isn't a dying boy's fantasy.

"Come on," she says, the exasperation clear in her voice. She pulls out of my grasp, but I manage to kiss her again before she does so.

Our mood changes once we pack up and move out of the cave. Now we're all seriousness. The last few days being caught in the cave due to the rain and the need to hide from Cato felt like a short respite from the Games themselves, but now they're back full force. Katniss seems to realize this too because she hands me a knife. I tuck it into my belt and follow her away from the cave. I'm still limping from my injury, but it's not as bad as it was before.

"He'll be hunting us by now," I say. "Cato isn't one to wait for his prey to wander by."

"If he's wounded –" she began, but I cut her off.

"It won't matter. If he can move he's coming."

The stream has overrun its banks thanks to the rain. This gives us an excellent opportunity to replenish our water. As we keep walking, Katniss checks some snares. I'm not sure if that's what they are, but what else could they be? Unfortunately, all of them are empty. So much for easy food there.

"If we want food, we better head back up to my old hunting grounds," she says.

"Your call," I respond. "Just tell me what you need me to do."

"Keep an eye out," she says. "Stay on the rocks as much as possible, no sense in leaving him any tracks to follow. And listen for the both of this." I'm only reminded of the fact that she's lost her hearing in her left ear when she says this. The thought saddens me. She needs her ears to hunt, I know this. It must be very difficult as well as frustrating to do this without the ability to hear everything around her.

As we head upstream, I notice Katniss glancing at the river several times. I know she's thinking about walking in the water, but I don't think my leg could handle it. The more we walk, the worse my limp becomes. I'm tiring quickly too, and I have to resist the urge to ask Katniss to stop and let me sit for a moment, which means my weakness hasn't fully evaporated.

We pass the place where Katniss found me covered in mud and weeds, however, now you can barely tell I was there. Both of us know that this is a good thing. The less evidence of our staying here, the better. Though it's cold and damp, I don't want to have to find someplace else to stay. I've come to think of our cave as a little home of sorts and leaving it just makes me feel as though something would be missing. It's ridiculous of course and the thoughts of a small boy instead of a young man, but I don't deny that what I'm feeling is real.  _Real and stupid,_ I think to myself.

The boulders around us soon become rocks and then pebbles. Not long after that, we're walking on pine needles, back on the forest floor. It takes me a minute to realize just how long it's been since I was in this part of the arena. I glance around. I'm making the leaves crunch and the pine needles rustle, but not that loudly, so I don't do anything to stop it. However, when Katniss turns to look at me, I know, instantly I'm wrong.

"What?" I ask.

"You've got to move more quietly," she says. "Forget about Cato, you're chasing off ever rabbit in a ten-mile radius."

"Really?" I ask, never having thought of that before. "Sorry, I didn't know."

We keep walking, me now taking extra care not to make any particularly loud noises, but with my leg still recovering from my injury, this hard and I wince every time I break a branch.

"Can you take your boots off?" Katniss asks finally.

"Here?" I ask, before I can stop myself. Though it is an unappealing thought to me, I realize almost instantly that this is probably something Katniss and her friend Gale do constantly. However, I'm a coddled baker's son and I've never been outside of my home without a pair of shoes on. I've never been beyond the fence around District 12 either, so it makes sense for me to be unnerved, but I'm pretty sure Katniss thinks I'm ridiculous.

"Yes," she says, a hint of annoyance in her tone. "I will too. That way we'll both be quieter." Like she was making any noise in the first place. Still, we both take off our boots and socks, and while I am able to be more quiet now, I still manage to step on everything that makes a loud noise in the quiet forest. I'm getting frustrated. This is just my luck. It's hard to maneuver around things with a leg that you can hardly lift off the ground without feeling some sort of pain shoot up your body. It's not as intense as before, but it still manages to make me grimace half the time this happens.

We walk for several hours and still we have no food for our efforts. I'm thankful when Katniss stops. I collapse to the ground, but I manage to hide my weakness from her. I don't protest when she hands me a bottle of water. I have to restrain myself from draining it. Once finished, I turn my gaze back on her and see she's deep in thought. I know she's trying to come up with a way for me to be more silent in the woods, but I don't think that's going to happen now, so I say, "Katniss, we need to split up. I know I'm chasing away the game."

"Only because your leg's hurt," she says, but I can tell she thinks I'm partly doing this on purpose and though that upsets me, it doesn't upset me enough to say anything on the matter.

"I know," I say. "So, why don't you go on? Show me some plants to gather and that way we'll both be useful."

"Not if Cato comes and kills you." She tries to say this nicely, but I know she's still thinking that I'm unable to handle myself, and, while she's partially right, I don't think that I would die in a match with Cato. Besides, she'd probably hear us if I'm as noisy as she says.

That's why I laugh. "Look, I can handle Cato. I fought him before, didn't I?"

Of course this is a really stupid thing to say because I almost died then, but I don't add that and neither does Katniss. I wonder if this is because she thinks she'll hurt my feelings or because I saved her life. It could be some other reason, but I'm trying to think positively. "What if you climbed up in a tree and acted as a lookout while I hunted?" she says. She's trying to make me sound important, but I know better.

"What if you show me what's edible around here and go get us some meat?" I can't stop myself from mimicking her tone. "Just don't go far, in case you need help."

She gives in, showing me some roots I can dig up. Before she leaves she teaches me a bird whistle. It's something we can use to communicate and let one another know we're okay. She does it a few times and I pick it up almost instantly.

I dig up all the roots Katniss pointed out to me in a matter of minutes. I keep whistling to her every now and again to let her know I'm fine. Once I've gotten all I think I can from the forest, I head back down to the stream. It takes me a while to get there, but I have time. I'm sure Katniss is going to be hunting for a while, getting us as much food as she possibly can. She knows I'm alright. I keep whistling to her after all.

At the stream I look around and find a bush of berries. I don't know what they are, but they're food and right now food is what we need. No time to check whether or not they're poisonous. I grab handfuls of those and bring them back to the woods. I place them on the sheet of plastic and then go back for more. I've just returned with my second batch when I see some more in the bushes by the pack and roots. I'm digging through them when I hear a frantic voice calling my name.

I stand up and jump back dropping the berries as Katniss sends an arrow flying at me. It sticks into the bark of the tree instead of my shoulder which was where it had been headed only moments before. I'm opening my mouth to ask what she's doing, but she speaks first.

"What are you doing? You're supposed to be here, not running around in the woods!"

"I found some berries down by the stream," I say, utterly confused.

"I whistled," she says, angry. "Why didn't you whistle back?"

"I didn't hear," I say and as the words come out of my mouth, I know it's true. "That water's to loud, guess." However, my excuse isn't good enough. I can see her shaking. Moving out of the foliage, I cross the small space between us and place my hands on her shoulders.

"I thought Cato killed you!" she practically shouts.

"No, I'm fine," I say. I wrap my arms around her, trying to comfort her, but she doesn't say anything. "Katniss?"

She pushes away. Obviously she's still angry. "If two people agree on a signal, they stay in range. Because if one of them doesn't answer, they're in trouble, all right?"

"All right!" I exclaim, my own temper getting the better of me now.

"All right," she says. "Because that's what happened with Rue and I watched her die!" She turns away from me, pulling a full water bottle out of the pack. I know there's one that's already partially empty, but she's upset. Glancing in our bag, I see her glaring at something, but I don't know what, until she says, "And you ate without me!"

"What? No I didn't," I say, getting frustrated.

"Oh and I suppose the apples at the cheese," she says, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

"I don't know what ate the cheese," I say slowly through gritted teeth, trying my hardest not to lose my temper. "But it wasn't me. I've been down by the stream collecting berries. Would you care for some?"

She walks over to me and picks one up out of my hand. She rolls them between her fingers and instantly I know something's wrong with them. She continues doing this as if trying to figure out why they're so bad when a cannon fires. Katniss spins around to look at me, but I only raise my eyebrows. A hovercraft appears not too far away and lifts what I believe was one Foxface into the air.

Panic sets in. If she's dead and that close, then Cato must be too. He's going to be coming after us and I don't know how we're going to defend ourselves. Katniss has her bow and arrow, but he may have something to ward that off with. I grab her arm and push her towards a tree, wanting to get as high up as we can before he gets here.

"Climb," I say, trying not to sound too panicked. "He'll be here in a second. We'll stand a better chance fighting him from above."

Katniss stops me. All of a sudden she's calm, almost too calm as she says, "No, Peeta, she's your kill not Cato's."

This brings me up short. I swore I would never kill anyone in the arena and I haven't. I never even noticed that Foxface was nearby. I didn't draw my knife once. "What?" I say, still confused. "I haven't even see her since the first day. How could I have killed her?"

Without a word, Katniss holds out the berries.


	24. The Beginning of the End

I must still look confused because Katniss explains everything to me. She tells me how she watched Foxface steal food before and after she blew up the Careers' supplies. She tells me how she had been stealing enough to survive, but never enough to raise eyebrows. Then she says the reason that Foxface ate the berries was because she thought they were safe to each, since I'd been gathering them. Even though I know it isn't  _really_  my fault that Foxface died, I can't help feeling that it is. My heart aches and I can't stop thinking about her family, how they are mourning her death, how she'll lie in a wooden box, be sent back to her district after being made to look as though she died of natural causes instead of in an arena, starving to death. From the look of her body, I don't think she had more than a few days anyway.

"I wonder how she found us," I say to distract myself. "My fault, I guess, if I'm as loud as you say."

Looking back on it, I suppose I was really loud, especially since Katniss made barely a sound. Still, she says, "And she's very clever, Peeta. Well, she was. Until you outfoxed her."

"Not on purpose," I say quickly. "Doesn't seem fair somehow. I mean, we would have both been dead too, if she hadn't eaten the berries." It takes me only a second to realize that's completely untrue. "No, of course, we wouldn't. You recognized them, didn't you?"

She nods. "We call them nightlock."

"Even the name sounds deadly," I say. "I'm sorry, Katniss. I really thought they were the same ones you'd gathered."

"Don't apologize," she says. "It just means we're one step closer to home, right?"

"I'll get rid of the rest," I say quietly. I gather them up in the plastic, making sure to keep the berries from falling out, going to toss them back into the woods. The fact that the berries are poisonous is only part of the reason I want them gone. The other is that they're only a reminder I didn't do as I promised myself I would. I killed, even if it was accidental, I still killed someone and I swore I wouldn't do that, unless Katniss' life was in danger and it clearly wasn't. She knew what the berries were. She knew that they were dangerous. She knew we would die if we ate them. There was no reason for Foxface to die. Even if he were here now, I wish it had been Cato who killed her. Not me.

"Wait!" Katniss shouts. I spin around and watch as she pulls out a leather pouch. She reaches her hand into the plastic and grabs a few handfuls of berries. "If they fooled Foxface, maybe they can fool Cato as well. If he's chasing us or something, we can act like we accidentally drop the pouch and if he eats them –"

"Then hello District Twelve," I say, trying to sound more enthusiastic than I feel.

"That's it," she says, tying the pouch to her belt.

"He'll know where we are now," I say. "If he was anywhere nearby and that saw that hovercraft, he'll know we killed and come after us."

She knows I'm right. All along Cato has been waiting for us to do something so he can come and find us. I want to leave the vicinity, return the cave, stay there instead of out in the open where he can get to us. Which is why I'm surprised when Katniss says, "Let's make a fire. Right now." Without waiting for me to respond, she begins to gather branches and brush in the space around us.

"Are you ready to face him?" I ask.

"I'm ready to eat," she responds. "Better to cook our food while we have the chance. If he knows we're here, he knows. But he also knows there's two of us and probably assumes we were hunting Foxface. That means you're recovered. And the fire means we're not hiding, we're inviting him here. Would you show up?"

"Maybe not," I say.

I've always been good with fires. In fact, it's me that usually heats up the ovens and furnaces in the bakery back at home. Even though the wood is damp, I'm able to coax a blaze out of the branches rather quickly. Katniss roasts the rabbits and the squirrel. The roots she wraps in leaves and lays them on the hot coals to bake. As our food cooks, we take turns gathering more plants that are nearby. We both keep an eye out for Cato, but he doesn't come. After our food is ready, Katniss wraps up the majority of it. She leaves us each a rabbits leg to eat as we walk.

When she suggests we climb a tree to rest in for the night, I immediately begin to protest. "I can't climb like you, Katniss," I remind her. "Especially with my leg, and I don't think I could ever fall asleep fifty feet about the ground."

"It's not safe to stay out in the open, Peeta," she reminds me.

"Can't we go back to the cave?" I ask. "It's near water and easy to defend."

She sighs and from the way she does, I can tell she really doesn't want to do this. She wants to climb a tree where she knows we'll be the safest. I can hardly blame her. If I felt as uncomfortable about sleeping in the cave as she obviously does, I would have a problem with going back as well. It is a long walk, even longer considering the pain I'll be in by the time we get back. I still haven't fully recovered from my injury and the thought of just staying here for then night without giving it the chance to act up again is a tempting thought, but I don't want to sleep in a tree and Katniss is right, we  _can't_  sleep out in the open.

She reaches up and kisses me. "Sure. Let's go back to the cave."

I'm happy and relieved she didn't make me climb up a tree as well as a little surprised. "Well, that was easy."

She pulls her arrow out of the wood of the nearby tree. She's careful with it and I can understand why. These arrows are the key to our survival. Before we leave, we put more wood on the fire. It will send off smoke, so Cato will think we're here. However, after all the times that Katniss has used this to fool him, I don't think he's going to buy it this time. When we reach the stream, she tells me to walk back through the water. This seems like it will be much easier to do than walk on the rocks, so I climb in after her, barely noticing as the ends of my pants are soaked through. The walk is long and, for me, arduous. By the time we reach the cave I'm beyond exhausted. Despite this, I stop to refill my water bottle, same as Katniss, before I climb into what I've decided to call our home. She lays out a good dinner for us, but I'm already nodding off. I'm still weak and after simply lying around for several days, I don't want to do anything but sleep now. Sensing this, Katniss tucks me into the sleeping bag, pulling it up around my chin. I barely notice her kissing my forehead I fall asleep so quickly.

Unlike the last few times I've slept, tonight I do not dream. I'm not sick. My mind is just to tired to conjure up anything, good or bad. Although, I don't think it could top the dream from the night before anyway. That would take great skill and in my extremely exhausted state, I don't think it has the capability. As a result, my sleep is dreamless and I don't open my eyes until I feel Katniss shaking my shoulder. I open my eyes and look outside, alarmed. The sun is coming up. How long have I slept? The whole night? "I slept the whole night," I exclaim once I find my voice. "That's not fair, Katniss, you should've woken me."

She stretches and hunkers down in the sleeping back next to me. "I'll sleep now," she says. "Wake me if anything interesting happens."

But nothing does, so I let her sleep for as long as she wants. She doesn't wake until the afternoon. The sunlight is streaming through the cracks in the rock and when I look at her, I smile. The way the light falls on her, makes it look as though there is a halo around her head. "Any sign of our friend?" she asks.

I shake my head. "No, he's keeping a disturbingly low profile."

"How long do you think we'll have before the Gamemakers drive us together?" she asks.

"Well, Foxface died almost a day ago," I say. "So there's been plenty of time for the audience to place bets and get bored. I guess it could happen at any minute."

"Yeah, I have a feeling today's the day," she says. She glances outside and I do as well. It looks far too peaceful. "I wonder how they'll do it."

I don't say anything. Thinking about how we might be thrown into a battle with Cato is something I don't want to think about it, mostly because there is a chance that only one of us will live and that one of us could be me. I don't want to live without Katniss. I don't want to lose her. I will do everything in my power to keep her alive and if she is hurt in the final battle against Cato, I will make sure it's me that's killed.

"Well, until they do, no sense in wasting a hunting day," she adds. "But we should probably eat as much as we can hold just in case we run into trouble."

I pack up our things, while Katniss sets out a meal for us. It's almost as large as the one we had before we went hunting yesterday. We both eat the rest of the rabbits, the roots, the greens and the rolls covered with the last of the goat cheese. Katniss saves only the squirrel and our last apple.

When we're finished, our fingers are covered in grease. I wipe them on my pants, but what I really want to do is wash them in the stream. I can tell that Katniss wants to do the same. We're both filthy from head to toe and before we fight Cato, I think we'd both like to wash ourselves off. The last time I had anything that could constitute as a bath was when Katniss first found me lying in the mud. I must smell awful by now.

Exiting the cave for the last time makes me realize that there isn't going to be another night in the arena. At least, it doesn't feel like it. We're going to leave it today. Hopefully alive. I would prefer not to die, but if it's my life or Katniss, I know that I'm going to choose her life to save. She gives the rocks that were our home a gentle pat before hurrying away. We're both fantasizing about the stream now, wanting to wash ourselves off, but when we reach it, there is only a bone dry riverbed where it once was.

Katniss kneels down, placing her hand on the earth. "Not even a little damp," she says. "They must have drained it last night." I know I shouldn't be too concerned about running out of water, but the look of the dusty, dry riverbed, makes me nervous. We have two bottles of water, but the hot sun isn't going to keep those full for much longer. We're going to drink every last drop before we find Cato.

Then it dawns on me.

"The lake," I say. "That's where they want us to go."

"Maybe the ponds still have some," Katniss says, her voice hopeful.

"We can check," I say, but I'm only humoring her. We both know full well that there isn't going to be any water anywhere and when we reach a pond that she must have once used, that's only confirmed. It was really a waste of time to come all this way, but I don't say that. There was a small chance there could have been water and I was hoping against all hope that there was. I don't want to feel this dirty anymore.

"You're right," Katniss says. "They're driving us to the lake." There isn't any cover there. We won't be able to hide. We'll be in an open field and the audience will get a bloody fight. They enjoy that. Especially when nothing is obstructing their view. "Do you want to go straightaway or wait until the water's tapped out?"

"Let's go now, while we've had food and rest," I say, sounding more tired than I mean to. "Let's just go end this thing."

She nods. I don't know what she's thinking, but I'm feeling as though the last couple of weeks never happened. Somehow all the tributes vanished and now we have to face Cato. But that's only a part of it. Another part is that I feel almost exactly how I did when the Games began. I was scared and determined to keep Katniss alive and that's how I feel now. Only my resolve is stronger and my body weaker. The last thing I want is anymore bloodshed, but to go home that's what has to happen. I can wish that it didn't, but it does. I can tell from the way Katniss is simply standing there, staring at nothing in particular that she's nervous and without a word I step forward, wrapping her in my arms, trying to comfort her.

"Two against one," I say. "Should be a piece of cake."

"Next time we eat, it will be in the Capitol," she tells me.

"You bet it will," I say, smiling slightly.

For a moment we stand there, unmoving. The sunlight shines down on us, warming our backs. A light breeze keeps us from becoming too warm. It's perfect here. Almost as perfect as the field in my dream, but there we weren't heading towards a fight that we only have a slight chance of winning. I think this is what makes us break apart, starting for the lake again.

Unlike the day before, Katniss makes no comments about my heavy footfalls. I'm not sure why until I realize, she would probably prefer our fight with Cato to be out here instead of out in the open. I can't blame her. I would much rather be in the woods too. There are trees and an infinite amount of places for me to conceal myself on the ground. It takes a lot of time and precision to disguise myself as cleverly as I did by the stream, but with Cato not having the eyes Katniss and I do, then I don't think I'd need to camouflage myself as carefully.

When we stop to rest, it's under the tree where I first really saw Katniss after the Games began. It's also where Glimmer died and I was stung by five tracker jackers. I shudder remembering the hallucinations that followed. I don't know if Katniss is as disturbed by this place as I am. She walks over to what's left of the tracker jacker nest and kicks it. Immediately it crumbles into dust that blows away with the wind in a matter of minutes.

"Let's move on," she says. I can hear the anguish this place holds for her as well in her voice and don't tell her to stay.

We don't reach the plain until early evening. To my surprise, there is no sign of Cato. In fact, I don't see anything other than the Cornucopia, reflecting the last rays of the sun. The lake glitters nearby, but Katniss and I don't go over to it until we've thoroughly searched for the place for Cato. There is a possibility he could be hiding, but it turns out that he's not.

Once she's purified her water, I watch her frown at the sinking sun. "We don't want to fight him after dark," she says. "There's only one pair of glasses."

I squeeze a couple drops of iodine into my own saying, "Maybe that's what he's waiting for. What do you want to do? Go back to the cave?" I know my voice is full of hope and, really, there's nothing I can do to stop it from being that way. I would love to spend one last night with her where I have nothing to worry about.

"Either that or find a tree," she says to my surprise. "But let's give him another half hour or so. Then we'll find cover."

We don't hide. We sit by the lake. Anyone who emerges from the trees would be able to see us. It wouldn't make sense to hide now anyway. Better to fight Cato now instead of have him sneak up on us later. I don't notice the mockingjays in the trees nearby, but Katniss must because she whistles four notes. I recognize them. I've heard them before, but I don't know what they're from. When she finishes, the birds pause for a moment, then begin to repeat the tune. The forest seems to contain an orchestra now, one that contains music too beautiful for this time and place.

"Just like your father," I say softly, a smile spreading across my lips.

Her fingers slowly move up to the pin on her shirt. "That's Rue's song," she says, reminding me where I'd heard it before. "I think they remember it."

The voices of the mockingjays overlap one another and I close my eyes, allowing myself to find peace for, what will most likely be, the last time in the arena. However, it's only seconds after I've thought this that shrieks cut through the music. I snap my eyes open and jump to my feet, pulling my knife from my belt as I do so. Katniss already has her bow strung and ready. Cato must be coming. I hope she can get him before we have to fight him.

Just as suspected, he comes crashing through the trees. He has no weapons, which makes me feel as though the odds may actually be in our favor, but when Katniss shoots at him, the arrow only bounces off his chest and falls to the ground. So he's invincible? Brilliant. So much for an easy way home.

"He's got some kind of body armor!" Katniss shouts to me.

He's nearly upon us and I expect him to run right into me, locking his fingers tightly around my throat, but instead, he runs right between us. I get only a glance of his face, but it's covered in sweat and he's panting. He's been running for some time now. From something. My heart drops into my stomach when I see the creatures coming out of the trees. Without thinking twice about my actions, I turn and run.


	25. The Hunger Games

During the rebellion, animals were taken and mutated in Capitol labs. Then they were sent back out into Panem to be used against the rebels. The jabberjays were one of these, the tracker jackers are another. Now, seein these creatures, I know they are a third. There is no wolf that I know of that can stand easily on its hind legs and wave to its companions with its paw. I can't see anything else this far away and, the more I think about it, I don't want to.

Both Cato and Katniss are heading for the Cornucopia. I follow them, though they are far ahead of me. My injured leg is slowing me down considerably and the more I run, the more my leg aches. I tell myself to keep running, that pain can't slow me down that it no longer matters and if I do slow down, then I will be caught and killed. Katniss is already at the Cornucopia, her hands resting on the tail, preparing to climb. She must have forgotten me, but this doesn't bother me in the slightest. As long as she's safe, there is nothing to worry about. However, no sooner have I thought this than she turns. She sends an arrow at the pack behind me. I hear a cry of pain, but one mutt dead isn't going to save me.

She's hesitating and I gesture for her to climb shouting, "Go, Katniss! Go!"

Without protest, she does as I say. She must know that there is no hope for either of us with her on the ground too. She scales it easily, but I'm unsurprised. She has a talent for getting away quickly, especially when climbing is involved.

I've just reached the tail, when a mutt grabs my hand in its teeth. I manage to pull it away, but not before I cry out in pain. Katniss spins around. Only moments earlier, she was preparing to finish Cato off. I can tell by the way her bow is positioned, but when she sees me she seems to forget all about him.

"Climb!" she yells at me and I don't question this, but as I do, I realize that this I going to be far more difficult than Katniss made it look. My leg can hardly stand the strain of the climb and I realize that putting my knife back in my belt would have made this far easier. The metal that is the Cornucopia is also hot to the touch. In fact, I feel as though it is going to blister my fingers and when I remember the burns on my chest and legs, I wince at the thought. I don't want to go through that pain again.

When I reach her feet, Katniss grasps my arm and pulls me up next to her. I notice that Cato is sitting on the top of the horn, clutching his cramped sides and coughing. When he speaks, I can hear him, but Katniss mustn't because she shouts, "What?" at him. I can hardly blame her for not hearing what he said. The growling from the mutts below coupled with the deafness in her left ear isn't helping any.

"He said, 'Can they climb it?'" I respond and instantly our attention shifts back to the Cornucopia's base.

The group begins to gather together. It's only now that I can tell their fur is all different. Some is curly, others straight and others wavy. They're all different colors as well. Blonde, black, red, and brown. I watch as they sniff and taste the metal. They dig their paws into the metal, making high pitched yipping sounds, which I can only assume is their means of communication. After a moment, one mutt with silky blonde fur launches itself forwards. It lands about ten feet beneath us. Katniss shrieks and I jump, instantly full of concern. Her bow isn't strung properly and I know this isn't lack of skill, this is lack of ability to keep control. Luckily, we don't have to worry about that mutt for long. It quickly slides down the side and falls to the ground, twitching. I don't know if it's dead, but I can only hope that it is. One less mutt. One less thing that can kill us.

But we need to move on. We have to get to the top of the Cornucopia. I grip Katniss' arm, ready to pull her along. "Katniss?"

"It's her!" she gasps.

"Who?" I ask.

Completely confused, I begin to search the plains for anyone or anything else that she could be talking about, but I see nothing. Only the mutts beneath us and Cato on above us. I'm beginning to think that he's the lesser of two evils. However, Katniss is still in shock and I still don't know why. I shake her shoulder. "What is it, Katniss?"

"It's them. It's all of them." At first, I don't know what she means, but then she adds, "The others. Rue and Foxface and…all the other tributes."

She's clearly horrified and when I begin recognizing the rest of the pack just as she did when the mutt that could have only been Glimmer tried to reach it, I gasp, my grip on her arm tightening. "What did they do to them?" Then another thought, one that sickens me so completely I have to physically restrain myself from retching flits into my consciousness. "You don't think…those could be their real eyes?"

She doesn't respond, but she doesn't have to. I'm thinking the same things she is. If these really are muttations of the other tributes, then do they have any of the others memories? Or were those completely erased and they're now programmed only to kill us? Maybe it's something else completely. Perhaps they were told that we are the reason they died, the reason they are the way they are now. Maybe that's why they want us dead. However, I don't think that's it. I feel like it's something else, but I want to stop thinking about it. Forget the jabberjays that can mock human speech so exactly it's uncanny, never mind the tracker jackers that give you hallucations that make you beg for death, these mutts are the worst by far. Taking part of someone and turning them into something that only kills is horrific and I am thankful beyond all belief that I survived, since this would have been my fate otherwise.

I was so focused on my thoughts that I don't notice, until they start launching themselves at us, that the mutts were preparing another assault. Several of them get dangerously close and then one grabs me, tearing at my pants. I cry out, though mostly out of fear. I lose my footing and begin to tumble to the ground before I grab onto Katniss. Somehow she manages to steady herself, keeping us both from falling to our deaths.

"Kill it, Peeta! Kill it!" she shouts. Without another thought, I jab my knife into the neck of the mutt holding me. I don't want to do it because, even though it isn't a person anymore, I can't help feeling I'm killing someone who could have had a life. However, I don't want to fall and be killed by these things, so I do what I told myself I wouldn't and kill the mutt. It falls to the ground and Katniss and I are able to make our way to the top of the horn.

Cato's still bent over, trying to regain his breath, but it won't be long before he does and then he's going to kill us. Katniss loads her bow with one of her last arrows, but instead of landing in Cato's skull it finds the throat of a mutt that somehow managed to get to the lip of the Cornucopia. She's turning away from him to face more mutts when I'm torn from her side. I don't know what's got me, but a pain greater than that of even when Cato cut my thigh consumes me. My blood splatters Katniss' face and I can't even scream I'm in such a state of shock. It's only just now that I realize it was Cato who grabbed me, held me over the edge just enough for a mutt to take a chunk out of my thigh and is now holding me in a headlock so tight I can barely suck in any air.

I desperately claw at his arm, begging him to let me go, but he doesn't. One of my hands trails down to my calf. Instantly my fingers are drenched in crimson. It's thick and drips onto the top of Cornucopia in big drops. It's almost as though someone turned on a facet and is just letting the water run, only, instead of water it's my blood. I was told in school how back before Panem came into being there were people who used so much water that they drained lakes, streams and rivers in a matter of months. After the water was gone, everything in the lake died. It was unable to survive without that life source. Just as those animals died from lack of water, my blood is being drained from my body and soon I will die too.

Katniss has two arrows left. She aims one at Cato's head, but that won't work. He's covered in a body armor and if he is killed, then I'm going to fall to the ground and die as well. Cato smirks and says this out loud to Katniss. However, he doesn't let me go because he knows that if he does, he'll die too. She would kill him the instant I was dropped. It makes me thankful to know that she cares that deeply for me, but I almost wish she didn't. Wouldn't it be better to take out this monster while he still lives than to wait for him to let me go?

My lips are starting to turn blue. I only know this because the warmth is fading from them fast. I can hardly feel my hands anymore. I don't know what Cato is doing or saying and, out of all of the times I have seen her look afraid, Katniss has never looked more terrified than she does now. She doesn't know what to do and neither do I. I'm going to die here in a moment from lack of oxygen. Or perhaps my blood will drain out of me by then. It's covering the Cornucopia. The pool is so big that when I glance down I can see it. Even if Cato let me go now, I'm sure I'd slip and fall anyway. There's so much blood I could paint a picture with it. A detailed one too.

That's when it hits me. I can't paint a picture, but I can do something else. I can give Katniss a place to shoot. I can't tell her, but I can show her. My fingers are covered in enough of my blood for that. In a last-ditch effort, I raise my hand, still dripping with blood from my thigh to Cato's arm, but I don't struggle this time. No. This time, using all of my strength, I draw a dark red X on the back of Cato's hand. She knows what this means instantly and I don't know if Cato does, but her arrow flies into his hand, making him cry out and topple over the edge, slipping on my blood. I slam against him and for one moment I think I'm going to die from falling off the edge of this horn anyway, but Katniss catches me before that can happen. She pulls me threw my blood to her and I hold her close, listening to the thud as Cato hits the ground.

We wait for a cannon, signaling that this nightmare is over and we can go home now, but we both know that isn't going to happen. Not right now. Right now Cato is going to fight these things, but he's going to lose. I don't know if he has any weapons, but he seems to be giving the mutts a run for their money. I hear several cries from him, but even more from the mutts. However, in the end, there are too many. They take him down, drag him around the Cornucopia into the mouth of the thing. I'm certain they're going to finish him off now. In fact, I'm praying they will, so I wait for the cannon to be fired, this time with true belief that it will. But still. It never comes. I can only hear moans below and feel an icy wind beginning to creep up on us. I hold back my shivers, not wanting to draw attention to myself, but as night falls and the anthem plays, Katniss turns to me. She glances down at my leg and I notice it's still bleeding badly. It's a wonder I haven't died from blood-loss yet.

Katniss takes off her jacket, tears off her shirt and then quickly puts her jacket back on. She's shivering now and violently. I don't know what the purpose of her doing this is until she begins to tear it. She makes me lie down and I know I must look terrible. It's becoming difficult for me to breath. I'm sucking in air with the hope that I'll get just enough to inflate my lungs now. Her fingers probe my wound, but I don't flinch or cry out or even wince. I'm too weak for that now. The next time I glance at her, I see her fingers are drenched in my blood as well. Without a word she begins tearing her shirt apart. I don't know what she's doing until she ties it tightly around my leg, sticking an arrow in between the fabric and my leg to keep the blood from flowing any faster than it already is. I know I could lose my leg from this, but would I rather die or walk around with a prosthetic for the rest of my life? She's now bandaging my wound with her shirt and once she finishes she lies down next to me.

"Don't go to sleep," she says. I know why she says this too. It's not a simple command, it's a warning. She's telling me if I close my eyes, I'm never going to open them again.

She's still shivering and as I unzip my own jacket, I ask, "Are you cold?" She doesn't respond, but she must be because she moves closer to me and once we're both inside of it, our shared body heat keeps us slightly warmer than it might have otherwise. We feel warm now, but it's only early evening and the temperature is going to drop further and further down the scale as the night progresses. The Cornucopia is going to turn to ice beneath us. Maybe we'll freeze to death. Isn't freezing to death the same as dying of blood-loss? You just go to sleep and never wake up? And towards the end, you even begin feel warm again. If I'm going to die tonight, I want that to be the way I go.

"Cato may win this thing yet," she whispers to me.

"Don't you believe it," I respond instantly, pulling up her hood in an attempt to keep her warm. I don't do the same, but it's only now I notice that I'm trembling far harder than she is. She has a better chance of making this out alive than I do. She's going to live. I'm not. I know I still have a chance, but it's a slim one.

The night becomes worse and worse as it goes on. Not only is it cold, but in the Cornucopia beneath us, we can hear Cato begging, moaning and whimpering. I don't know what they're doing. Well, I do, but I keep myself from thinking about it. I don't want to have even an inkling of what is going on beneath us. It is the worst thing that I could ever picture and even Cato doesn't deserve to die like this.

"Why don't they just kill him?" Katniss asks

"You know why," I whisper in response, pulling her closer as the thought of her dying in that way crosses my mind. I'm more sickened by the fact that the audience in the Capitol is enjoying this and the others in the districts are trying their hardest to keep their dinners down.

I begin to try to ignore what is going on beneath me, but it's hard to. The subtle growling, the agonized moans, and the squishing, tearing sounds of flesh being stepped on and torn apart is something that consumes me. Even though Katniss told me not to, I begin closing my eyes, trying to sleep, but every time I do, she shouts my name. Each time it's louder and more frantic. That's when I begin fighting it: when I realize what I'm doing to her. I fight to stay alive for her because I couldn't care less if I die, but Katniss cares, so I have to make myself care. Besides, I don't want to leave her just yet. I want to spend a lifetime with her. I want to love her, care for her, perhaps even allow my dream to come true one summer day in the woods, but I may not be given that chance. For the second time in less than a week, I'm dying and there is little chance that I will survive. This time, the chance is even less. There is no medicine that exists, not even in the Capitol that keeps blood from flowing out of its owner.

Eventually it becomes too much and Katniss shouting at me isn't enough anymore. I begin telling her about the stars, commenting on the way the moon moves across the sky. I tell her how beautiful it is and how beautiful she is and how we're going to go home soon, we're going to be together and everything is going to be alright. Finally, I see a glow on the horizon and I whisper that the sun is rising. Although I don't know if she can hear me, since I can barely hear myself. The stars begin to fade and when I lift a weak hand to point out the last few to her, my skin is nearly transparent.

There still hasn't been a cannon for Cato. Katniss presses her good ear to the cold Cornucopia, listening for signs of life, but I'm nearly dead and I can hear, without having to do what she is doing that he isn't dead yet.

"I think he's closer now," I whisper, just wanting this whole nightmares to be over and done with. "Katniss, can you shoot him?"

"My last arrow's in your tourniquet," she says.

"Make it count," I respond. I unzip my jacket and she immediately goes for her bow. Then she comes back and removes the arrow, retying the fabric as tight as she possibly can. Her fingers are frozen and she takes several minutes rubbing them together, trying to warm them, so she can shoot accurately. After that she crawls to lip of the horn and hangs over it. I force myself into a sitting position and grip her to make sure she doesn't fall.

It takes her only a minute to end the life of the boy that I once hated so desperately, but minute I hear her arrow enter his skull, I'm thankful he's gone. Not  _because_  I hated him, but because he was suffering. Sometimes it is better to end the life of someone who is suffering than try to save them and this is what Katniss does. I somehow manage to pull her back up onto the Cornucopia. My blood is caking its surface and as she moves across it, some flakes off.

"Did you get him?" I whisper, struggling to breathe.

The cannon finally fires.

"Then we won, Katniss," I say. I don't want to celebrate, I want to sleep. I want to lay down and sleep, but I can't because I'll die. I know that for certain now. I'm concentrating so hard on keeping myself awake that I don't hear Katniss give the dull victory comment of, "Hurray for us."

Far off a hole opens in the plain and the mutts run into it as though they've been called. Once they've all gone in, the hole closes and I wonder what's going to happen to them next. Probably they'll be killed. The Capitol has no need for them anymore. It's a sad thought, what happened to them. Even though they tried to kill us and all but ended my life, I still feel a pang in my chest when I realize that maybe their bodies were never returned home. Maybe they were just kept for this exact moment. It's such a painful thought that I have to restrain myself from pressing my hand to my chest. It wouldn't keep the pain at bay. Nothing can, but it might give me the illusion that things are truly going to be better.

That's when I realize the hovercraft still hasn't come for Cato and there haven't been any trumpets blaring, signaling our victory.

"Hey!" Katniss shouts into the air. "What's going on?" All we hear are birds chirping in the trees. I even hear Rue's four note whistle in there. I want to smile at the memory of when I first heard it the night before with Katniss, but I can't force my lips to do something that they're no longer used to doing.

"Maybe it's the body," I say. "Maybe we have to move away from it."

I don't know if this is true, but every other person that has died in the arena has been taken away after their killer vacated the area. I only say this because I don't want to stay in this place any longer. I want to go home. Either that or I want to die. If I can't go home, I'd much rather die than spend the rest of my life in the Capitol. I check myself. No. I don't want to die. If I do, I might be turned into a mutt like all of the other tributes and I couldn't stand that.

"Okay," Katniss says. "Think you could make it to the lake?"

"Think I better try," I respond. Though I can barely move, I manage to slide off the horn. Katniss' joints are stiff from the cold and mine are too. The only way that I keep my knees from buckling after I drop to the ground is by leaning against the chilled metal. However, that's not enough. I do fall to the ground. Even so, I still lean against the Cornucopia. I let my eyes flutter shut. I'm not going to sleep, I just need to catch my breath. I need to rest, if only for a moment. I've no sooner done this than Katniss is pulling me to my feet, but once we get to the lake I collapse again. She cups her hands in the lake and drips water into my mouth before getting some for herself.

No hovercraft has appeared yet. I only realize this when I look back towards the Cornucopia and can just make out Cato's ravaged body inside. I turn away from the sight. My stomach is weak and I don't want to lose what little food I have in me. I'll be able to get a lot soon enough. But we're still standing out in the open. Nothing has happened.

"What are they waiting for?" I say weakly. My wound has reopened. I can feel the warm blood seeping out of my skin again, dripping to the ground. The tourniquet is helping some, but all of the physical exertion is taking its toll.

"I don't know," Katniss responds. She seems to notice that I'm losing blood again. She gets up to find a stick or something to stick in between the bandage and my leg. I don't see any sticks. There's nothing out here. She's just picking up an arrow when Claudius Templesmith's voice echo's around us without warning.

"Greetings to the final contestants of the Seventy-fourth Hunger Games." That sentence alone makes my stomach fall through the floor. "The earlier revision has been revoked. Closer examination of the rule book has disclosed that only one winner may be allowed. Good luck and may the odds be ever in your favor."

Static proceeds the speech. Then there's silence. Katniss is looking at me now, her expression one of shock and panic. However, I'm completely calm. I saw this coming. I knew something was off from the moment they said there could be two victors. Despite this, I still had hope. Hope that what they were saying was truthful instead of some terrible, awful lie. But now I know that my hope was foolish and now I'm going to die.

"If you think about it, it's not that surprising," I say softly. I struggle to my feet, grimacing as I do so. I move towards her, pulling the knife from my belt. The instant she sees the flash of the blade, her bow is up and loaded, the arrow pointing straight at my heart. I raise my eyebrows, but by this point I've already dropped my knife into the lake. Now I have no weapon. No way to fight back. Now she will win. When she sees the splash the knife gives off as it falls into the water, she lowers her bow and steps back, her face bright red from shame. But I don't want her to do this. She's doing this wrong. She's supposed to kill me. She has to. She must. She can't die. Not her. Me. I have to die.

"No," I say. "Do it." I limp towards her and push the weapons back into her hands.

"I can't," she says. "I won't."

"Do it," I plead, desperation filling my eyes. "Before they send those mutts back or something. I don't want to die like Cato."

"Then you shoot me," she says, anger filling her eyes. She tries to give me her bow and arrow. "You shoot me and go home and live with it!" She must know that I would die if I killed her. In fact, I would kill myself before she was dead. Then it occurs to me that I can do that anyway and she can win.

"You know I can't," I tell her, throwing the bow to the side. "Fine. I'll go first anyway." I bend down, biting back a cry of pain and tear the bandage off my leg. The fabric falls and my blood immediately begins to flow faster. I'm already getting tired, already fading away.

"No, you can't kill yourself," she says. She bends down and hastily reapplies the bandage, her fingers shaking.

"Katniss," I whisper. "It's what I want."

"You're not leaving me here alone," she says and in that moment I know she's serious, though I don't want her to be. She can't die. If she dies I will too. I've told myself this over and over and over again, but she's never once heard me say it. So I take a deep breath and decide to tell her everything that's in my heart.

"Look," I begin, pulling her up. "We both know they have to have a victor. It can only be one of us. Please take it. For me. I can't be without you, Katniss, I really can't. Without you, I'd die. Without you, I'd begin drinking because I know why Haymitch does it now. He does it because he's lost so many children to these Games and he couldn't help them. He could never save them and if you die, I will feel as though I couldn't save you. I love you, Katniss. My heart swells every time I am near you and I feel safe. I feel peaceful. And I've never felt like that before. All I've ever known is fear and violence. My mother beats me, Katniss, you know that and I don't want to go back to that. I don't want to live if I have to leave you and return to that suffering. Do you understand? I can't live without you. Even if I get out of this arena alive and you're dead, I'll never really be alive again. Not really."

Without warning, her fingers begin fumbling with the pouch hanging from her belt. It takes me a minute to know exactly what it is she is she's suggesting, but once I do, I clamp my hands around her wrist and whisper, "No. I won't let you."

I can't watch her die. Especially this way. I found the berries. I gathered them. I made her realize they existed and if she dies this way, then I will feel as though I've killed her. I wish now more than ever that I hadn't found them. This wouldn't be happening otherwise. Her victory would be ensured, but now it isn't. Her life is in danger and it's my fault.

"Trust me," she whispers, catching me completely off-guard. Is she asking if I trust her or is she asking me  _to_ trust her? I do trust her. I trust her with everything inside me. But this is making me question whether or not my trust is truly founded. I look into her eyes, looking for any trace of betrayal or trickery. But I find none. I loosen my hold on her and watch as she pours some berries into my cupped hands before filling her own. "On the count of three?"

Now I know what she was doing. Neither of us can live without the other, so we're going to end both of our lives, so we don't have to. I'm glad actually. Dying seems so much better than living. Live is hard. Death is easy. I lean down and kiss her once with extreme gentleness, as though I'm terrified, she's going to shatter. "The count of three," I confirm.

We stand back to back, staring across the arena plain. Our empty hands are laced together for what will be the very last time.

"Hold them out," I say. "I want everyone to see."

She does ask I ask. Though I can't see her, I'm certain of this. I watch as the berries glimmer in the sunlight. They look so harmless, but they're going to kill me, take me away from this cruel world so I don't have to live without Katniss. She gives my hand a squeeze, saying goodbye in her own way. Then she begins to count.

"One." The sun is so beautiful. The sky so blue. "Two." The mockingjays are still singing Rue's song. "Three!" I look around the arena. This is what I will see before I die, but I'm going to try to turn before I do, so the last thing I really see is Katniss' face.

I've just put the berries in my mouth when the trumpets begin to blare and Claudius Templesmith's frantic voices sounds over them. "Stop! Stop!" Ladies and gentlemen, I am pleased to present the victors of the Seventy-fourth Hunger Games, Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark! I give you – the tributes of District Twelve!"


	26. After the Storm

Without hesitation, I spit the berries on the ground. Some fall and bounce away, while others burst open, staining the grass in a dark red that looks like blood. I wipe my tongue with my hand, making sure none of the juice remains. Once finished, I take Katniss by the arm and drag her to the lake. Considering how weak I am, how close I am to death, this is somewhat of a miracle. The both of us wash out mouths with water and collapse into each other's arms. Well, I do, Katniss more or less just sits down next to me, her arms wrapped around me the same as mine are wrapped around her.

"You didn't swallow any?" she asks.

I shake my head. Even this small gesture saps my strength immensely. "You?"

"Guess I'd be dead now if I did," she responds. I tell her I'm glad we're both alive and we're going to go home together. I also start to tell her that if I die she must find the will to live without me. Then I realize the roar from the Capitol audience is so loud she probably hasn't heard any of what I just said.

A hovercraft appears overhead and a pair of ladders drop down. Katniss helps me to my feet and doesn't let go. She helps me onto the first rung of one ladder and instantly we're frozen in place. Good thing too. I'm sure I would fall otherwise and that seems like an awful way to die. I can't see it, but I can feel my blood still running down my leg and, maybe it's just my delirious mind, but I swear I can see the blood draining out of the hand that is clutching the ladder rung. Either way it doesn't matter. The moment we're pulled inside and the current stops, I slump to the floor unconscious.

Unlike my deadly sleeps of the past, during this one, I dream. Although, it isn't exactly a dream. It's more of an out of body experience because I'm still sitting next to Katniss. I stand and take a few steps back. That's when I see I'm still lying on the floor of the hovercraft. Or at least my body is. Whatever I've come isn't. My first thought is that I must be dead. Why else would I be standing here, feeling absolutely no pain, while I stare at my broken body? Why else would Katniss be clutching my jacket as though it were a lifeline?

 _Because I am still alive,_ I realize as I watch a team of sterilized doctors, their noses and mouths obscured by masks, ready to operate, tear me from her side. They take me into a room nearby and place me on silver table. They take off my jacket and cut my shirt from my body before they stick needles in my arms, tubes in my chest and mouth, and stick some sort of adhesive, plastic circles all up and down my torso. Wires protrude from their centers, the same way the tubes protrude from my chest. They are all connected to a wall of machines. It must be these tubes and wires that are keeping me alive. With how bloodless I've become, how transparent my skin is, what else could it be?

There is a window right across from me and through the glass I see Katniss. She's pounding on it, yelling, trying to reach me. Her eyes are full of desperation and fear. Forgetting about my own critical condition, I move around the doctors operating on my frail body, to where she is standing, screaming.

Placing one of my hands on the glass, I look into her eyes, somehow trying to grab her attention, though I know I can't; wishing that I could touch her, but I can't. "Shh, Katniss, please," I whisper, my voice wavering as tears fill my eyes at the sight of her, at knowing how much she has suffered and how she deserved none of it. In vain, I keep trying to comfort her, until one of the attendants from the Capitol appears and gives her a pristine glass of orange juice. She stops her screaming and slumps to the floor. I follow suit. She stares at the glass for a very long time before she places it carefully on the ground. I can tell she doesn't trust it and, after all we've been through, I don't blame her.

During the time it takes us to get to the Capitol, I stay here next to her; I'm no longer interested in the way my operation is going. I sit up against the wall on the floor, my forehead pressing against the glass. I stare at my hand, tracing strange patterns on the transparent barrier that separates Katniss and me. She watches the doctors working feverishly on me, their brows creased in what I can only describe as concentration and concern. Twice my heart stops, and twice I see a bright light on the other side of the room, but I don't go towards it either time. I only turn and stare at my closed eyes, willing my heart to keep pumping because I have to live, I can't die. Not now. Now when Katniss and I have been freed from the hell that is the arena. We can be together now, really together, with no cameras watching our every move.

My attention isn't drawn back to myself, until almost an hour later. One of the doctors, the one I assume is the leading the operation, says, "It's no use. The tourniquet severed his tendons and broke many of his veins. There's no longer circulation in his leg. We have to amputate it from the knee down."

It takes me a moment to realize they're talking about my injured leg. They're saying they have to cut it off below the knee and I can't let that happen. Earlier I knew that what Katniss had done could result in the loss of my leg, but now that I'm certain I'm going to survive, I don't want this to happen. It's strange to think that now my leg is suddenly important to me.

These are doctors from the Capitol. Surely there is a way to save my leg. They can't just take it away from me like this. I have to at least try.  _They did try._  They must have a way to change this, some sort of special procedure, a medicine that heals these kinds of things. But they aren't using it. They're being selfish and refusing to save my leg because I'm just a stupid boy from District 12. Maybe they think that taking away my leg will win the audiences' sympathies, but I don't care about the audience anymore. I just want to be healthy again. I want to stop being on the edge of death. I want to live as normal of a life as I can now that the Games are over.

I'm on my feet in no time at all. I run towards the head doctor and get between him and my body on the sterile table. I spread my arms, trying to protect myself, though I know I can't because he can't see me or hear me when I scream for him to stop because this is my body and he doesn't have a say in what happens to it. When he picks up a large saw from a table nearby, I begin trying to pull him away from me, but my fingers go right through his jacket. I'm surprised for a moment. How can I touch the window where Katniss is, but I can't pull the doctors away from my body? Then I realize: the window isn't living. I can't touch anything living or anything that the living thing possesses and once this thought moves through my head, I begin to panic. I'm beginning to understand that there is nothing I can do to stop them from chopping off my leg. I can't stop them and this makes my breathing quicken, my heart race. Even on the monitor in the operating room, I watch as my heartbeat accelerates. Somehow, I'm still attached to my body, even in this state.

Finally, when all hope of stopping this procedure leaves me, I back up, so I'm standing against the window again. Now it's I who needs comforting, but Katniss can't do that. She can't see me. From this distance, I can't even see the saw they're going to use to cut my leg off. Though I don't want to, I can't stop myself from moving so I can watch what's going to happen. From the minute the saw breaks my skin to the minute my leg is taken away and thrown into a trash bin, I scream. I scream at the top of my lungs, until I'm hoarse. I shriek and scream and trying to beat the doctors with my fists, but I can't. I can only stare at the bloody stump where my leg used to be. It's ridiculous, how upset I am, but I've lost all control.

I'm still screaming when the world around me turns to black without warning. It isn't a gradual fade into dark. It's instant and all consuming. I feel trapped. I feel like there are walls closing in on me from every side, even though I can't see them. I'm reminded of the darkness that I was trapped in during the time when Katniss was at the feast and fear fills me. I don't want to be in that black again. I don't want to feel like there is no escape. But I don't really have a choice in the matter.

However, within only a few moments, the darkness vanishes. My eyelids flutter open, but the light behind them is too much for my eyes to take. I let out a small gasp as the light burns them. I take several short breaths, waiting for my eyes to adjust before slowly opening them.

It's an effort to do even this and I realize this, I also realize that I can hardly breathe either. It takes all my strength to inflate my lungs. When I exhale, I fall unconscious. I'm too weak to even stay awake. Before I drift off, I wonder if I'm going to die despite everything that is here in the Capitol that could potentially save me. What feels like a short time later, I open my eyes again. It's still a struggle to do this, so I concentrate on breathing instead. Soon I'm sleeping. This happens over and over again for what feels like days. As time passes, I begin to feel stranger and then I wake up and I don't feel as though I need to focus on my breathing.

Now that I can stay awake without effort, I'm afraid to. I want to go back to sleep because I'm safe there. However, I know I can't stay asleep forever, so I open my eyes and glance around the room. Though I'm stronger than I was, my head spins when I turn to the right to see a stack of machines next to my bed. I also notice there are several tubes stuck into my arm. There are still wires and the plastic circles on my chest, but the tube is gone. Lifting a hand, I touch my face and feel a tube running under my nose. Removing my hand from my face, I lift the soft sheet laid over me and find I'm naked.

I also find a stump where my calf used to be.

That's when I remember the dream I had. Or at least I thought it was a dream. But now I know that's untrue. Dropping the sheet, I close my eyes and let out a heavy sign, allowing my arm to fall back onto the mattress. So it was all real. The operation, Katniss screaming, me screaming, the loss of my leg. Everything was real.

I don't notice the band strapped over my waist to keep me from leaving the bed, but I'm too tired to site up anyway. I drape my arm over my eyes, blocking out all light. I don't move, even when someone – an Avox, I think – presses a button on the side, lifting me up into a sitting position. I remove my arm after a minute and find a tray of food on my lap, but I don't want to eat it. I only want to go back to sleep.

When it becomes clear to whomever is watching me that I'm not going to eat, cool liquid flows into my veins through the tubes in my arm and I'm drawn back into a sweet black oblivion. I wake up a short while later and find a fresh plate of food on my lap. For a while I stare at it, not wanting to eat, but eventually I do because I know I'm being ridiculous and that I'm better than this. Yes, I lost my leg, but I'm still alive and so is Katniss. Isn't that what matters? After I've eaten as much as I can, which is really not that much, I push the tray away, grateful for the sleep the liquid dripping into my arm brings.

Each time I wake up, I notice something different: there are no more wires on my chest; my skin is so soft that I know the people here at the Capitol smoothed it down somehow. They're probably just trying to make me look better than I actually do. Then there comes the time I wake up and there are no more tubes in my arm or under my nose. At the end of the bed I see two things: a set of clothes and Portia.

"How are you?" she asks. Her voice is soft and soothing. Though she rarely shows emotion, I can see true concern in her eyes now.

I open my mouth to respond, but I am silenced by a muffled shout outside of the room. The voice is familiar and it's calling my name. I sit up too fast, ready to go find Katniss, but both my aching head as well as Portia's hand on my shoulder, forces me back down. I take several deep breaths as Portia explains that Katniss is alright and I'm still ill. More ill than I should be for my interview tonight. She says I have to learn to walk with my prosthetic leg the Capitol has made for me as well as be dressed. I'll have to have makeup put in me, so I look less tired and weak. So I look healthy. I disagree with none of what Portia says.

"First things first," she says, pushing herself to up off the bed. She holds out a hand for me and I take it, this time rising slowly to avoid my head from spinning and me passing out. I swing my leg over the side of the bed. I stare at my stump of a leg for a while before I attempt to stand. Almost immediately, my knee buckles and Portia rushes forward to catch me. I clutch at her, trying to keep myself upright. She helps me regain my feet and, once I have, she leads me from my bed to a wheelchair sitting by the door.

Confused, I look up at her and say, "I thought you said I have a prosthetic leg? And what about my clothes?" I really don't want to be going around the Capitol naked.

Without a word, she eases me into the chair. Then she goes back to the bed and gets, not my clothes, but the sheet they're laying on. When she comes back, she tucks it around me. It covers me from my waist down to my foot, completely obscuring my nakedness save for my chest. She moves behind me and grasps the handles of the chair. She begins pushing me towards the door and it slides open on its own. As it does, she bends down and says in my ear, "It'll be easier to get there this way. You can learn to walk with your new leg once we get there. With the way it's designed, it won't be that hard."

Compared to Katniss and Cinna, I barely know Portia at all, but we are friends in our own quiet way. I think we both like this better. We don't want to talk. Especially not now. We just want to get things that have to do with the Games done and over with as fast as we can. It's not that we don't want to see one another, we actually enjoy being in the other's company, but we don't want anything to do with the Games.

Though I've been checked out of the hospital, Portia was right when she said I was still sick. We aren't even halfway there before I doze off. The wheelchair is comfortable as is the sheet over me. The way it rocks as it moves makes my eyes droop and before I'm able to stop myself I'm sleeping. I stay asleep until Portia and I get off on the twelfth floor of the Training Center. Though it all looks the same, it seems so foreign to me now. How could I have ever lived in such luxury even if it was only temporary? How could I have gone from this to the arena that turned me into little more than skin and bones?

It's really Ambrose, Lamia and Quinlan that wake me up. Their voices are too loud to ignore and my groggy brain barely has time to register their faces, all different colors of the rainbow, before they're hugging me and telling me that they were so afraid for me, that they didn't want me to die. I don't know how much truth there is to these words, but I'm guessing not a whole lot.

After our quick greetings, we head to the dining room. There I'm given a real meal, but I barely am able to get a quarter down before I feel as though I'm going to throw it all back up. All of the days in the arena eating berries and roots has shrunk my stomach and, yet again, made it sensitive to such succulent dishes. It becomes clear to my prep team quickly that I'm not going to be able to eat as much as they will, so they finish their bites, push away their plates and wheel me into the room where I will be prepared for my interview.

"Before we do anything, Peeta," Portia begins, "you need to learn how to use this." She holds up the prosthetic leg she's told me about from the beginning. It's made of both metal and plastic. It attaches easily to my stump and when I get up I still need help steadying myself, but once Portia moves away, I'm standing on my own, completely, perfectly balanced. She tells me to walk around the room to get used to it, but the minute I move it forward I stumble and fall. She helps me up and tells me to try again. This happens twice more before I finally get a hang of walking without falling. Then I have to work my extreme limp. I walk around some more until I'm not limping like I'm falling apart. I still have a limp, it's still pretty prominent, but it's not as bad as it was earlier. I walk around the room some more until I'm sure I know what to do, then I obediently stand on the pedestal and allow my prep team to go to work.

It a way, it's like the interview  _before_  the Games all over again. Me standing naked, while my prep team makes me look perfect. They're chatting excitedly about various things going on in their lives. Or at least that's what I think they're talking about, until I hear them say, "that girl from District 2." That's when my attention snaps back to them and I realize they were talking about what they were doing  _during_  the Games. They didn't care that people were dying, they only cared what deaths they missed and didn't miss, the show that were, in their mind, the most entertaining. I have to clench my fists and stare at my skinny body in the mirror to keep myself from yelling at them exactly what it is I think.

Finally, they leave and I'm left alone in my dressing room, staring at myself in the mirror. I hate how I look, although Ambrose, Lamia and Quinlan did manage to make me look healthier, at least in my face. I'm examining their work when I hear the door behind me open. I turn and see Portia. She's carrying a pair of black pants, matching boots and a pale yellow shirt. Compared to my last few outfits, this one is much more subtle. In fact, it's something that I could wear in District 12 and not get many awed looks from the citizens.

I give a small smile and say, "What happened to the fire?" Though it's Katniss who's the girl on fire, we've both been dressed in fiery costumes since the opening ceremonies so long ago. Now, I'm going to be dressed in a simple, formal outfit, while she'll most likely be wearing another of Cinna's extravagant outfits. She'll be the star of the night again. I'm sure I'll hardly be noticed. Or at least I think I won't until Portia responds to my question.

"Not quiet."

She hands over the outfit and with her help as well that of my returned prep team, I manage to get myself into the pants and boots. I do the shirt myself, buttoning it up slowly. I lift my head slightly so I can reach the last couple of buttons more easily. This time when I look in the mirror I am surprised at how I look. I don't look like the half-dead boy that was taken out of the arena. I don't look like the lovesick fool from my first interview either. I look like myself. I look almost exactly as I did the morning of the reaping. It's unsettling in a way, but I'm glad I'm no longer looking at a stranger.

Before we leave the room, Portia hands me something long and thin. When I take hold of it, I realize it's a cane. I glance at her and she smiles for the first time I can remember as she says, "You still limp a bit. This will steady you." The unsaid  _and will play to the crowd's sympathies_  doesn't go unnoticed and I have to wonder why I have to be doing that now. Haven't I already won them over? Haven't  _I_ won the Games along with the girl I love? I don't say any of this. I just smile back and nod, giving her a silent thank you.

The place we travel to is the training level. Since I'm still a bit unsteady, Portia leads me down the dimly lit hallway to the metal plate I will stand on when I am raised from where I am now to the stage above. Once we arrive, I unlink our arms and limp towards the plate. I glance back at Portia and whisper, a smile on my face, "You were right."

"What?" she asks.

"About Katniss," I say. "You were right. She does love me back."

Unlike before, Portia doesn't respond, but I'm too happy, too excited to see Katniss again to notice the anxious look on her face.

I glance around and find a makeshift wall not too far away. Katniss must be behind it and it's all I can do to keep myself from running to it and trying to tear it down to get to her. I want a moment alone with her before we go up onstage and the entire world sees us. I want to tell her how much I love her and how grateful I am to be alive and with her. I can do that later, I know, but I want to do it without the prying eyes of Panem. I want a moment alone with her, one moment of privacy and I'm getting the feeling we're not going to get that. Not for a while yet.


	27. Heading Home

The anthem begins to play above me. For once I welcome the sound. It means that I'm going to see Katniss for the first time in what feels like a very long time. I hear Caesar Flickerman greeting the audience. His voice makes me eager for the moment my metal plate will start rising. However, before that can happen, our prep teams have to be introduced. Then Effie will take the stage. Cinna and Portia will follow her, and Haymitch will come out right before we do. The crowd cheers for everyone who precedes us. They're particularly enthusiastic for Cinna, Portia and Haymitch. I can feel the rumble as they jump up and down, full of excitement. My breath hitches in anticipation as my metal plate begins to move. I close my eyes and don't open them until I can hear the crowd screaming twice as loudly as they were before. The light behind my lids is bright, so I open them slowly. I hardly give myself time to take in the elaborately constructed stage around me before I turn and see her, standing on her own metal plate and, just as before the Games, I have to fight to catch my breath.

She's wearing candlelight. Katniss Everdeen, the girl on fire, is wearing candlelight. That's the only way I can describe the dress she is wearing. She looks so much healthier than she did the final days in the arena. Looking at her, a smile spreads over my tired face. The same excitement is in her eyes. I stare at her with her hair down, her beautiful dress rippling in the light from the stage, adding to the fiery effect. She takes three steps in my direction and I am about to head towards her when she flings herself into my arms. It's all I can do to stay upright as I catch her, clutching my cane in one hand. When I feel as though I'm going to topple over, I straighten before I pull her into me and hold her close.

Everything fades away. The audience, the noise they've been making, the bright lights, the subtle pain in the stump of my leg. It's all gone. It's only me and Katniss now. No one else and, as I hold her, I realize just how scared I was I'd lost her. My grip on her tightens and my eyes close, the expression on my face turning one of pure pain and fear, but how can it now be when I'm reminded of my horrific hallucinations, the ones where I watched her die over and over again?

 _But you have her now,_ a voice whispers and it's right. I have her now. That's when I pull away and begin to kiss her, if only to remind myself that she's truly alright. She's so beautiful and all I want to do is stand here and kiss her forever. The hand holding my cane is wrapped around her waist, the other tangled in her long, brown hair. At some point, Caesar Flickerman taps my shoulder, trying to get me to stop this so the show can begin, but I push him away. I need to stay with Katniss. Right now, I need it to be just us and the only way I can convince myself this is true is by continuing to kiss her because as I do, every memory I have of her returns; from the day I first saw her to when I was futilely trying to comfort her in the hovercraft's operating room.

In the end, Haymitch practically pulls us apart, shoving us towards the victor's chair or, in our case, loveseat. If I weren't trying to turn around and glare at Haymitch for separating us, I might find this clever. I cross the stage to the chair and sit down heavily. In a moment, Katniss is beside me. She sits close to me. So close that we could be sharing the same space of couch. But this seems to not enough for her. She takes her feet out of her shoes, pulls them up onto the chair and she leans her head against my shoulder. It's become instinct for me to put my arm around her when she does this. I close my eyes and, as Caesar Flickerman makes a few last minute jokes, I imagine we're back in the cave without all of these people. I imagine we're alone. It isn't until the lights are dimming, signaling the show is about to start that I finally open them. As the screen brightens, I feel Katniss take my hand in both of hers. I hold one of her two hands with my own, running my thumb over the back of her palm to give her reassurance that everything is going to be alright. Because I need to convince myself of this also.

I'm going to have to watch it all over again. Everything that happened in the arena and not just the stuff between Katniss and I, but the deaths of the other tributes as well. Frankly, I don't know how they're going to condense the past several weeks into a matter of hours, but they do it just fine. In fact, they manage to make this montage of death a love story. It would be heartwarming if there wasn't so much blood on the screen.

Of course they don't start out with the blood. They actually begin with the pregame events. I see on the chariot, our clothing ablaze. Katniss looks just as stunning now as she did then, if not more so. I barely notice myself. It's hard to. Katniss on fire and waving to the crowd, coupled with her outstanding training score, leaves me all but unnoticed. However, when our interviews are replayed, it's hard not to. I have to admit that in my suit with the flame accents, I actually look decent. When we reach the part where I confessed my love for Katniss onstage, the audience lets out a longing sigh and I smile. Then, I thought she would never love me. Now I know differently.

When we enter the arena, things change. They show me talking to Careers, convincing them to let me into their group. There's also a scene where Katniss is shown darting from the scene into the forest. After that there's detailed coverage of the bloodbath. The next time anything involving either of us happens is when I return to the tree the night I thought I first saw Katniss. The cameras show me looking pained as I watched that other girl die. One is focused on Katniss' face. She looks shocked and angry. I don't feel offended or upset now. Then she didn't know what was going on. Then they show me deliberately leading the Careers away from her. They show how I stayed up nearly every night to make sure that if she walked by the others didn't see her. They show my brutal battle with Cato and how I was injured, though they show none of the aftermath. Finally, I'm shown lying in the mud bank. I'm whispering her name in my sleep. I didn't know I was doing that. I thought I was only saying her name in my mind, but it seems that I was wrong.

In between all of this, they show Katniss. They show her dropping the tracker jacker nest on us. They show her running through the fiery forest. I watch as she nurses the wounds she received as a result of the fire and wince. She was badly burned. I glance down at her leg, noticing the burn is gone now. I don't have to ask how, either. The Capitol polished her body too. The last bit we see of Katniss alone is her singing to Rue. Before that we're shown how they became allies, how they were so close and when I watch the little girl die, I clutch my cane with all of my strength, trying to keep myself from falling apart.

When they show the announcement that two tributes can win, I watch as Katniss calls out my name. I hadn't been hearing things after all. After that I watch her coming and finding me. She takes care of me, nurses me back to health. The only scene during this part of the montage that is new to me is when Katniss went to the feast. There I see how Clove almost killed her, how Thresh saved her life and how Clove died. Eventually the scene with us holding out the berries comes. Then the announcement that we are both victors is omitted. The final thing any of us sees is Katniss banging on the glass of the operating room, trying to reach me. I don't see myself standing next to her like I was, but cameras can't pick up spirits.

The anthem plays again as the light come on. The crowd is cheering and President Snow is coming up onstage. There is a little girl behind him, carrying a red satin pillow with a crown resting atop it. I assume he's going to place the thing on Katniss' head, but he pulls it and it's broken into two. He places one of the halves on my head, smiling and then the other on Katniss'. Between the moment he set the crown on my brow to the moment he gave Katniss' hers, something changes in his expression. It's subtle and I can't tell exactly what it is, but I forget about it because then we're standing, waving, smiling, bowing to the crowd. At long last, Caesar Flickerman tells the audience that the final interviews will be tomorrow and we are taken from the stage to President Snow's mansion. The is both where we have our Victory Banquet and another interview of sorts. Sponsors and officials are trying to get pictures with us. We barely have time to eat and we barely do. The room is in utter chaos. I keep a tight grip on Katniss' hand the whole time. I have a strange fear that if I let go, I won't see her again.

Near dawn, Haymitch and Portia escort us back to our floor. Haymitch takes Katniss away while Portia takes me off to have me fitted for my outfit for the interview tomorrow. She doesn't do much or say much. She takes a few measurements, then sends me off to bed. The only thing she says is, "How is your leg working out for you?"

"Good," I respond because I really haven't had much time to figure that out yet.

"Is the cane helping?"

I nod because that's true. I don't know if I'd be able to keep my balance without it. I know I won't need it for much longer, but, for some reason, I enjoy it. I don't know if I'll be allowed to take it back to District 12, but I hope I can. Though I hate the Capitol and the Games, I want to be reminded of Portia. She helped me through so much of this and I feel it would be unfair to go home and forget her. I don't forget things easily, but I don't want to risk it, so I decide to try to find a way to convince anyone who tries to stop me that I'm going to need the cane back at home. Somehow I don't think anyone is going to try to stop me in the first place, but it doesn't hurt for me to be prepared. I've become used to preparation at this point. I'd like to think I'm good at it even, so that night, between thinking about going to Katniss' room or the roof – I end up doing neither – I prepare for something trivial. Perhaps it's because the interview tomorrow is setting me on edge. Again, I don't know why, but there seems to be some underlying sinister quality to everything that's happening now, which makes no sense. The Games are over and I'm safe. I never have to worry about anything ever again.

Eventually, I fall asleep. I dream of going back to District 12 and working with my father in the bakery again. I'm not looking forward to seeing my mother, but I'm happy I'm going to be able to see my father and my brothers soon. Effie wakes me up only a few hours later and whisks me off to the room I was in measured in the night before. Ambrose, Quinlan and Lamia are already all there. They only do a few touch ups on my face before Portia comes in and gives me a pair of red pants with a white button up shirt. My shoes are black.

Once I'm fully dressed and made-up, I realize that I haven't seen Katniss since the night before. I turn to Portia to ask her where she is, but I find Haymitch walking through the door instead. I stare at him, confused. "Where's Katniss?" I ask. There's something about him that makes me suspicious, but I don't exactly know what. I push it aside when he reassures me that I'll see her at the interview in a few minutes. He gives me a once over, hands me my cane and sends me on my way. However, I'm interrupted by him several more times before I finally enter the room only minutes before the interview is about to start. I spot Katniss and don't give myself a chance to take in her appearance before I pull her off to the side and say, "I hardly get to see you. Haymitch seems bent on keeping us apart."

She nods and shrugs. "Yes, he's gotten very responsible lately."

"Well, there's just this and we go home," I say, giving a small smile. "Then he can't watch us all the time."

There's no time for Katniss to respond because we're being called over to the loveseat in the middle of the room, surrounded by pink and red roses. We sit formally at first, but when Caesar Flickerman tells Katniss she can curl up next to me, she doesn't hesitate. I pull her close to me. She fits perfectly into the crook of my arm. I smile down at her, so glad that things are the way they are. I may have lost my leg, but I didn't lose Katniss and I know she is all I need to survive. There's nothing else important. Only her.

There's a backwards count, then the cameras around us are rolling and the entire country can see Katniss and I on a loveseat with Caesar Flickerman sitting in a chair next to us. As the two of us begin to talk, I'm reminded of my first interview. We joked back and forth then too. We were so amiable then and we are now. He tries to talk to Katniss, but she clearly doesn't want to. She always redirects the conversation back to me and I don't mind. I'm not going to make her talk if she doesn't want to. However, it gets to the point where she's forced to and that's when Caesar says, "Well, Peeta, we know, from our days in the cave, that it was love at first sight for you from what, age five?"

The only thing wrong with that sentence is how he says ' _our_  days in the cave' not ' _your_ '. I'm reminded that we weren't alone, that people were watching us the whole time in that cave and I hate that. But I respond with a smile on my face. "From the moment I laid eyes on her."

"But, Katniss, what a ride for you!" he exclaims turning to her. "I think the real excitement for the audience was watching you fall for him. When did you realize you were in love with him?"

"Oh, that's a hard one…" she says, giving a faint laugh, staring down at her hands. I don't rush her, but I want to know the answer to this too. When did  _she_  fall in love with  _me_? I loved her from the beginning, but she didn't. I know she didn't. Apparently the audience knew that too, but they got to watch her fall in love with me, while I just had to wait until she admitted it, told me exactly what she meant. In a way, the waiting was nice. It built things up and had my heart bursting once I learned the truth. I check myself quickly. I'm starting to sound like the Capitol audience. The worst thing is it's in my head.

"Well, I know when it hit me," Caesar says, interrupting these thoughts. "The night when you shouted out his name from that tree."

As I think about it, I realize that this is true, even before Katniss confirms it, saying, "Yes, I guess that was it. I mean, until that point, I just tried not to think about what my feelings might be, honestly, because it was all so confusing and it only made things worse if I actually cared about him. But then, in the tree, everything changed."

"Why do you think that was?" Caesar asks.

"Maybe…because for the first time…there was a chance I could keep him," she says.

All the doubt I've ever had that she may not love me, even the small traces of it, vanish from my mind the instant she says this. I don't notice Caesar pulling the handkerchief from his breast pocket to dab at his eyes because all I can see it Katniss. I press my forehead into her temple and ask, my voice so soft I don't know if even the cameras can pick it up, "So now that you've got me, what are you going to do with me?"

She turns in towards me. "Put you somewhere you can't get hurt." I don't hesitate to kiss her, to hold her against me. The people in the room are sighing at how romantic we are, but I don't care. They don't matter. Nothing matters now. Nothing except Katniss.

After this Caesar talks about our injuries in the arena. Of course, I'm the focus of it all. I'm the one who got stabbed, stung, stabbed again and nearly died of blood poison, asphyxiation and blood loss. It isn't until we get to the end battle between Katniss, Cato and I that Caesar mentions the loss of my leg. He doesn't say it in so many words, but the message is clear. What else could, 'how is your new leg working out for you,' mean?

"New leg?" Katniss says and I start, not because I forgot she was there – how could I? – but because she doesn't know and I can't stop her from bending down and pulling up the bottom of my pants, revealing my prosthetic ankle. "Oh no," she whispers, there's true pain in her voice.

"No one told you?" Caesar asks, his voice tentative. She shakes her head.

"I haven't had the chance," I explain, shrugging, though, now I wish I had.

"It's my fault," she says. "Because I used that tourniquet."

"Yes," I say, gentle sarcasm dripping from my words. "It's your fault I'm alive."

"He's right," Caesar says. "He'd have bled to death for sure without it."

I'm sure she knows this is true, but that doesn't stop her from turning away and burying her face in my shirt. I hadn't known she would be this upset about my loss of limb. I was upset at first, yes, but I feel I wasn't even this upset. I'm sure that's untrue, but with all the drugs that were in my system at the time it's hard to distinguish what's real and not real. Though everyone tries to get Katniss to leave the confines of my shirt, she doesn't until Caesar brings up the berries. Then she has no choice, but to answer his question.

"Katniss, I know you've had a shock, but I've got to ask. The moment when you pulled out those berries. What was going on in your mind…hm?" he says.

She takes a long time to answer the question as though she's trying to think of precisely what to say, as though what she says means more than any of us could possibly imagine. I'm expecting her to say something long and dramatic, but in the end, she only whispers, "I don't know, I just…couldn't beat the thought of…being without him…"

"Peeta? Anything to add?" Caesar asks.

"No. I think that goes for both of us," I say and the program is over. Panem doesn't have to see us for an extended period of time until the Victory Tour, which is several months away. Katniss hugs Haymitch and says something to him before following me back to our rooms. We both pack quickly and leave. We are driven to the train that will take us home in a car with blacked out windows. The station is beyond crowded and because of this we're unable to say goodbye to Cinna or Portia. We wave at them through the windows, but soon the speed of the train is taking us away from the Capitol and back to District 12.

Towards the beginning of the journey, both Katniss and I go to our rooms to change back into ourselves. Our clothes are still unfamiliar, not our own, but when she comes out of her room, she looks as she did before the Hunger Games, before the reaping, before all of this. I wrap my arm around her and hold her close. Soon we'll be home and I'll be able to show her off to everyone, brag to the few friends I have that I have the girl on fire.

The train stops briefly for fuel and the both of us leave the stuffy confines of the car for the fresh air. We walk a little ways down the track, our fingers laced together and when we come upon some wildflowers I pick them up and hand them to her. They're pink and white and remind me of the dress she was wearing at the interview earlier that morning. She smiles and sniffs them. Then her expression turns dour and I don't understand. Why is she upset?

"What's wrong?" I ask, my voice soft.

"Nothing," she says and we continue on our way. We walk past the end of the train, until we're hidden and I'm sure no cameras can see us. I'm comfortable for the first time in a long time. I'm so focused on Katniss that I jump too when Haymitch comes up behind her.

"Great job, you two," he says. "Just keep it up in the district until the cameras are gone. We should be okay." He walks back to the train and when I try to look into his eyes in an attempt to understand what's going on, he doesn't let me.

"What's he mean?" I ask Katniss.

"It's the Capitol. They didn't like our stunt with the berries," she says quickly.

"What? What are you talking about?" I say, truly confused, but something feels wrong. Not just slightly wrong, but horribly wrong and I don't want to know what she's going to say next. I don't want to finish this conversation, but I have to.

"It seemed too rebellious. So, Haymitch has been coaching me through the last few days. So I didn't make it worse," she explains.

"Coaching you?" I ask, anxiety flooding through me. "But not me?"

"He knew you were smart enough to get it right," she says.

What is she talking about? What does any of this mean?  _Don't ask,_ a voice whispers.  _You don't want to know anymore of this._ But I don't stop because, even though I know that voice is right, I  _do_  want to know. Even if it's truly as terrible as the voices thinks it is, I want to know.

"I didn't know there was anything to get right," I say softly. And then it hits me. Like a ton of bricks crashing down onto my head, I understand everything. "So, what you're saying is, these last few days and then I guess…back in the arena…that was just some strategy you two worked out?"

"No," she says and for a moment I'm relieved, but then she continues. "I mean, I couldn't even talk to him in the arena, could I?"

"But you knew what he wanted you to do, didn't you?" I say. She bites her lip and I feel as though her teeth aren't breaking her skin, but my heart. "Katniss?" I drop her hand and she takes a step back. The flowers are still in her hands.

"It was all for the Games," I whisper. "How you acted."

"Not all of it," she says, her grip on the flowers tightening.

"Then how much?" I ask. Then I stop. "No, forget that. I guess the real question is what's going to be left when we get home?"

"I don't know. The closer we get to District Twelve, the more confused I get," she says. I wait for her to say more, but she doesn't and I know I have to get out of here before I start crying because that's what's going to happen soon and I have no control over it.

"Well, let me know when you work it out," I say. I know the pain in my voice is very clear, but I do nothing to hide it. A part of me wants her to know how much she broke me. It isn't fair, it's the exact opposite of fair, but, then again, it wasn't really fair of her to lead me on either, now was it? I thought she loved me, but she doesn't. It turns out she never did and I turn on my heel, heading back towards the train.

Instead of trying to explain to Effie and Haymitch why there are tears falling down my face, I brush past them and barricade myself in my room. I don't leave it all night, but spend my time, crying softly into my hands. I'm not sobbing like I was before the Games. In fact, if anyone saw me the way I am, they wouldn't think I was that sad, but if I showed them my face, the look in my eyes, they would know differently. My eyes are hollow now. I'm sure of it. In fact, when I look in the mirror later that night before I go to bed, I see this is true. The smile that was on my face earlier has been wiped away, perhaps forever. I don't do anything other than wash the tears off of my face, then climb into bed. I try to sleep, but thoughts of everything Katniss has said and done rockets through my brain as I do and in the morning when I get up and rejoin the group as we're pulling into the District 12 station, they still are. All I do when I see Katniss is nod at her.

We stand there in silence, watching the station grow closer as the train does. There are still plenty of people and, if what Katniss says is true, we still need to seem as though we're in love. I don't want to do that anymore. I'm so tired of lying to the audience and myself that we're truly in love because now I know we're not and we never were. But I have to do it. I don't have a choice, so without a word, I stick out my hand. She looks at me, her face full of uncertainty. I wish I could tell her I don't mean it, but I tell her with a voice that is as hollow as my eyes, "One more time? For the audience?" I'm slipping away from her already and I'm sure that once we've been home for a while, I'll leave her completely.

But for now she takes my hand and holds on tightly, preparing for the cameras just as I am and, I can't help wondering if she too is dreading the moment when she will finally have to let go.


End file.
